The Long Star Mile
by Blue Shadowdancer
Summary: There is a lot of space between the stars, and it's a lot of space to be alone in. Injured, McKay and Sheppard are just trying to get home, but the galaxy isn't a kindly place... and planets have their dangers, too. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

_**Summary: **There is a lot of space between the stars, and it's a lot of space to be alone in. Injured, McKay and Sheppard are just trying to get home, but the galaxy isn't a kindly place...  
**Spoilers: **Set sometime pre-Sunday.  
**Warnings: **None_.  
_**Disclaimer:** I don't own._

**A/N: This story's been writing itself on and off for several months now, and it's now got to the point where I can finally post it.** **I really hope that you enjoy reading! Please do leave a review to let me know what you thought, I'd very much appreciate it :)**

* * *

**THE LONG STAR MILE**

There was a lot of space between the stars.

Hell, Rodney had known that perfectly well already. As he liked to inform anyone in the vicinity, often at annoyingly regular intervals, there wasn't much that he _didn't_ know when it related to astrophysics, or to physics in general, come to think of it, not forgetting computer science, and maths, and, well, pretty much anything that interested him. Which, as Sheppard would probably describe it, was anything that beeped or lit up or was covered in strange symbols or numbers.

So this discovery wasn't something that should have come as a surprise to him.

But there was a great deal of difference between knowing and experiencing. He stared out of the Jumper window, still mesmerised by all that _space_. Somehow, he had never managed to truly appreciate its vastness before, despite all the times he had previously had a similar view out of an identical Jumper window. But on all those other missions, he had had company. People to talk to, people to blame, people to help him.

Now there was only silence. This particular mission was fast becoming a contender for his least favourite ever. And that was saying a lot.

"I'm just a _scientist_," he muttered mutinously, as though there was anyone around to listen, or to care. He couldn't bear the quiet any longer. His voice got faster as he continued. "This is _not_ what I signed up for. I wouldn't have come to a different galaxy in the first place if I'd known what sort of things I'd be expected to do. 'McKay, fix this. Fix that. Rodney, if you've got a few minutes spare, would you mind saving all our skins? Again.' Why is it always _me_?" He broke off to scowl at the utter darkness before him. The stars burned brilliant, transfixing him for long moments, but sending him no answer.

It was easy to pick out the brightest of the stars, directly ahead, but from his position the much smaller bodies orbiting it were invisible. Yet again he pulled up the HUD across the window, his eyes darting over the fast-flickering numbers and symbols, checking and re-checking the calculations in his head. Usually he would have no problem with trusting a computer system implicitly, but it was hard to convince himself that the jumper truly was moving at the speed it supposedly was, when the distant stars refused to come closer. Barring unforeseen circumstances, reaching the second star in the binary system at maximum sub-light speed should take about twenty hours. But if the Pegasus galaxy had taught him anything, it was that there were _always_ unforeseen circumstances.

"Simple recon mission," he continued, preferring the sound of his own voice to the vast silence surrounding him. Sometimes Atlantean technology was _too_ perfect for its own good. He would quite like a little engine noise, some perceptible shuddering or a change in gravity not perfectly compensated for by the inertial dampeners. Something to convince him that he _was_ in fact moving, rather than hanging immobile in this black void. Alone.

He'd never felt so alone before.

He continued talking, hastily, before those thoughts could gain ground. "When are simple recon missions ever simple? They always go wrong. Is it me? Maybe I'm a bad luck charm. Born cursed, that sounds about right. Story of my life."

Neither the blackness or the pinpoints of lights appeared to care. It was a vast and indifferent universe which he was alone in. The sheer _emptiness_ of it instantly subdued him as he stared out into it. And he felt numb. As if a large portion of his mind had closed itself off.

"It wasn't my fault," he half-whispered to the unfeeling stars. "I didn't know that this would happen. How _could_ I have?" But his reassurances to himself didn't explain why his left hand was unconsciously clenching and unclenching, even while his right hand brushed over the controls autonomously, checking and rechecking the data readouts he had long ago memorised.

"It isn't as if we haven't been in dangerous situations before now," he continued, but his heart wasn't really in it anymore. "In fact, it seems to be the norm these days. I should be used to it by now, shouldn't I?"

Silence swirled around him as he paused to draw breath. He had the sudden overwhelming impression that the universe was getting irritated with his mindless chatter. _"Shut up, McKay,"_ he imagined it muttering wearily, in the same languidly sardonic tones of John Sheppard.

Sheppard…

* * *

The explosions had begun with no warning whatsoever. He had wasted a few precious seconds indignantly expressing his outrage at that.

"Yes, McKay, because I post a warning next to all the booby traps _I_ set!" Sheppard yelled impatiently. "Now RUN!"

"Booby trap?" Rodney asked incredulously.

Ronon paused to glare at him in a way that clearly said, _Yes, McKay, it's a trap. Now would you please shut up and start moving faster before I decide to shoot you and leave you behind?_

Ronon might be a man of few words, but he had some _extremely_ expressive glares.

Rodney ran as fast as he could, but he was still lagging behind the others, as always, while chunks of dirt erupted around them. A brief glance at the scanner revealed energy signatures surrounding them, with more activating every second, in a pattern which herded them back towards the Gate. But he had no doubt that very shortly the order of the explosions would cease to be so considerate. The magnitude of them was already increasing so visibly that he didn't need the scanner to confirm it.

Which was why his stress levels soared exponentially upwards when John suddenly swerved from the path. "What the _hell_ are you doing?" he yelled, or tried to yell, but he was almost completely out of breath, and there was more of a panicky squeak in his voice than he cared for.

"The Jumper!" yelled back John, ever more in shape than Rodney, and ever the pilot. Correction. Ever the _suicidal_ pilot.

Rodney would have gone after him anyway. He really would have. Even as his mouth opened to tell John _exactly_ what he thought of him. But before he had time to take two steps along his new trajectory, the ground beneath John boiled upwards, throwing him into the air with the accompaniment of a deafening thunderclap. His limp body thudded to the ground, and lay still…

* * *

The vividness of the unbidden memory kept Rodney's eyes pressed shut and squeezed both hands into fists, while more adrenaline thudded through his system, setting his heart racing. The same cycle. His body wanted him to fold into sleep, but every time he did, his mind forced him into adrenaline-fuelled wakefulness. Something about that worried him, but he couldn't really put a finger on it. And he couldn't cope with any more problems right now.

For a brief moment he allowed himself to fantasise that when he opened his eyes he would be back safely in the familiar surroundings of Atlantis, having fallen asleep at his workstation again. Preferably with Zelenka bringing him a steaming mug of coffee.

Hopefully, he cracked open one eye, but the same visage greeted him, the Jumper interior, which remained both Zelenka- and coffee-less. "Dammit," he muttered wearily to no one in particular, which was just as well, as no one answered him. His voice, even muted, sounded unnaturally loud. And even with the adrenaline, the thought of moving felt like an unbearable effort. He let his eyelids fall shut again. After all, he had plenty of time…

* * *

"Colonel!" he shouted, shaking the man's shoulder desperately. Too late, he remembered you weren't supposed to do that if there was any possibility of a neck or back injury – and there definitely _was_ that possibility. But he didn't have _time_…

"Sheppard! Wake up!" he snapped, fear lending a sharp edge to his voice. He wanted John to snap back at him, but he just continued to lie there, pale and still and smeared with earth.

He couldn't see Teyla and Ronon at all.

Rodney wasted more precious seconds weighing up his options. The path to the Gate had so far proved less perilous than the rest of the planet's surface during their hasty evacuation, but it was much further than he could manage if he would be dragging an unconscious Sheppard with him. In contrast, the Jumper was much closer, but a potentially far more dangerous option, considering the buried mines that almost certainly lay in their way. Hence why the team had been running for the Gate, and not the Jumper.

He made a decision. Hoiking his arms under John's, back injury or no back injury, he began to drag him backwards as fast as he could go, stumbling on the uneven footing.

His radio suddenly crackled to life in his ear. "Colonel Sheppard, Dr McKay, please respond!" Teyla had apparently noticed at last that they were no longer behind her.

Rodney used more precious seconds to half release John and click the button on his radio. "Get… to the Gate!" he wheezed, the effort of talking on minimal air harder than he had expected. "Sheppard's hurt. We'll… catch you up… in Jumper."

"Hurry up!" That was Ronon. Rodney didn't bother answering. What did they _think_ he was doing?

He didn't have enough breath to waste on words, but inside his head he was keeping up a litany of curses, at himself for _still_ being, despite his best intentions, so much more unfit than the others, at John for being so idiotic and allowing himself to be injured, and most of all at the long-vanished civilisation who had decided that turning their entire planet into a minefield as their last act was a good idea. Yes, if the Wraith had come here it would have been a _great_ lesson for them, but what about innocent explorers? Could they not have posted a warning near the Gate, for heaven's sake? A massive chain reaction set to go off as soon as anyone reached the ruins of their city – oh yes, that was a _brilliant_ idea. Probably courtesy of the same calibre of sublime forethought and cleverness that distinguished the IOA.

The panicked thoughts tearing through his brain kept pace with his unbearably slow, lumbering movements, and with the hungry breaths he sucked in as his muscles screamed out for more oxygen.

At long, long last, the familiar rounded shape of the Jumper's hull swam into his vision when he snatched another glance behind him to check on his direction. At least they hadn't cloaked it, detecting no life signs in his initial scan of the planet's surface. He decided to take whatever small mercies he could get, and to be thankful for them.

"It'd be… nice… if you decided… to wake up… now," he gasped to John's dead-weight form. "You know, since… you keep telling me… how much better… a pilot… you are… than me…" No response.

He dropped John for a few seconds to open the Jumper hatch. Bending down again towards the Colonel, he felt the scanner slide out of his jacket and grabbed for it one-handed, too late. More seconds. It landed on the short grass screen-up, and he glanced at it automatically. His eyes widened.

"Rodney?" demanded his earpiece, in Teyla's voice, but he ignored it. Of far more concern was the power spike building up all around him. This was _not_ good…

Using a burst of strength he hadn't realised he still possessed, he tightened his grip on John, dragging him bodily inside the Jumper and dumping him unceremoniously onto the floor. And then he ran back outside, for the scanner. He couldn't help it. _Preserve Ancient tech_ had become a mantra engraved so deeply into his consciousness that he was unable to ignore it.

He almost made it. In fact, he had it in his hand, and one foot on the Jumper ramp, when all hell broke loose around him…


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I hope that people are enjoying this story! It's certainly got my record number of alerts for a single chapter, so thank you for that :) I'd also really like to know what you think, please do leave a review! :) Thank you very much to those of you who have!**

* * *

Rodney jerked out of a sleep he had had no intention of taking. "Wake up," he muttered sharply to himself, to emphasise the point. His heavy eyes found the window. Still black space. Still stars shining cold and unwavering.

He was cold, too, now. A bone-deep coldness.

He checked the course again, and reassured himself that the Jumper navigation systems were still locked on target. Then he stood and was alarmed to find that the floor momentarily dipped and slid beneath him. _The inertial dampeners…_ but surely something would have alerted him if key systems like that had been damaged? "Oh no," he growled, as fiercely as possible. "No, no, you are _not_ injured and stuck in your own floating coffin. You are _not_." The inertial dampeners were clearly at fault, and so was the alarm system. Nothing wrong with him. As soon as he arrived back in Atlantis, he was giving this Jumper a complete overhaul. Zelenka could help… but only after he'd stopped off in the mess hall, of course, for a well-deserved meal.

Now _that_ brought a bitter chuckle from him. _Well-deserved._ If he got back to Atlantis at all, it would be mostly due to luck.

Cautiously steadying himself with a hand against the bulkhead, he checked his watch and a second wave of alarm swept over him at how much time he had allowed to drift past. "Need to check the cargo hold," he told himself firmly. He took in a breath first, to prepare himself for what he might find, and to give him just a bit more time before he had to look.

John still looked more like cargo than anything. He hadn't moved from where Rodney had arranged him carefully on the floor, on top of a blanket, and packed another around him. He was still and pale, as if made from wax. Sheppard without his characteristic snark was someone else entirely, someone Rodney had almost no idea how to deal with. When missions invariably went wrong and John was injured, Rodney never knew what to do. He just hovered around awkwardly, burying his concern beneath irritation or bad jokes or fussing over equipment, doing anything but actually _dealing_ with him, until he was shouldered impatiently out of the way by Teyla or Beckett. And now he didn't know what to do. He had hoped that John would have woken up during the time he had spent in the Jumper's cockpit, but he showed no sign of it.

"Sheppard!" he said loudly. He hesitated with his hand just above John's shoulder, but he was hardly going to do any _more_ damage now, was he? He shook John, and his head flopped limply from side to side. "Sheppard, wake up!"

No response. But at least his pulse and his breathing were steady. What else would Beckett do if he were here? Aside from insulting him, of course. "It's hardly _my_ fault I'm not a doctor…" he began, and stopped suddenly as he realised he was forming a rebuttal to an argument in which he was the only participant.

Gingerly, he lifted John's head slightly with one hand and used the other to probe with his fingers through his mess of hair. He quickly found what he was expecting – a large swollen knot on the back of his skull. "That's going to hurt when you wake up," he informed John, pointlessly. "You'll probably have a hangover which is bad even for you. And I've _seen_ you after Ronon challenged you to one of his ridiculous Satedan drinking games, remember?

There was still no answer, but talking to Sheppard as if he was actually getting through to the man was helping him focus, Rodney found. He folded down onto the floor, propping his back against one of the benches. His breathing was strangely short from such a mild exertion.

"I hope Teyla and Ronon are alright," he said quietly. "They'll be back in Atlantis, I'm sure. I wonder what they're doing… but there's nothing they _can_ do. The Daedalus is still in the Milky Way, so if I'd waited for them to arrive, we'd both be long dead by then. They'll… they'll probably already think we're dead…" His voice trailed away miserably as it occurred to him the emotions probably running through his friends. "But _they're_ alive. I'm sure of it," he added quickly, and perhaps more firmly than was necessary.

Was it him, or did John's eyelids just flutter slightly? "Sheppard?" he asked sharply. "Colonel! John! You've slept long enough!"

He waited, but any movement there might have been faded into imagination.

* * *

Having had the autopilot programmed, the Jumper should have been fine to fly itself for hours. But, of course, Rodney couldn't for long resist the urge to check it himself. "I suppose you'd be calling me paranoid, Sheppard," he conversationally threw towards the motionless figure on the floor. "You know, laughing at me like you always do, and thinking you're so subtle about it. Always conveniently forget, don't you, about how my _meticulousness_ keeps saving our hides, time and time again. Different story then. Suddenly it's all, 'McKay, fix this, I know you can do it.' It'd be nice if you showed a little faith in me at times when I'm _not_ working on saving all our lives. Which is pretty much all the time, actually, now I think about it."

He paused to draw in a breath, and realised that he'd been arguing with a Sheppard who was unconscious, and certainly incapable of throwing out any of his usual snide retorts in reply. "Sorry," he said suddenly, his voice softer, and contrite. "I'm just… stressed, I guess. I know you put up with a lot from me." His apology and admission surprised him. If John had been awake, he would probably have been shocked into speechlessness by it.

What had he been doing before he started talking again? _The Jumper. Check on the Jumper._ It had slipped his mind during the one-sided argument. "Focus, McKay," he hissed, and pulled himself to his feet with the aid of the nearest bench. Whatever was wrong with the inertial dampeners had gone unnoticed while he had been on the floor but now suddenly made its presence felt again, forcing him to steady himself against the walls several times as he lurched into the cockpit. He collapsed into the pilot's chair with a small groan of relief.

Something twinged, from his body. Something being masked by the adrenaline and lingering shock. He ignored it. There was enough to cope with as it was.

"Display?" he asked, the spoken command unnecessary but helping him feel more in control, of the Jumper and of himself. It was responding sluggishly to him, where it was normally intuitive. Not to the extent that it responded to John, but good enough. This lethargy in obeying his thought commands was new. Maybe it was because his mind felt uncharacteristically sluggish at the moment. "Come on…"

The memory was vivid within him of the last time he had argued with a Jumper, trapped beneath immeasurable tonnes of ocean. Dark water all around, like the darkness that surrounded him now… he suddenly found himself short of breath, his chest locking. "No," he gasped, struggling against the rising panic. "No no no. Not claustrophobia. Not now. Please not now. Wide open spaces… Wide open spaces…"

His eyes were caught by the blackness beyond the window. All the wide open space he could ever wish for, and more, unimaginably more.

His brain seemed to stammer like the needle of an old gramophone, caught between the familiar claustrophobia and a sudden flood of agoraphobia. Only his tongue didn't desert him, and he let himself babble, hoping desperately that he would come up with something that he could latch onto. "I don't want to be here. I _really_ don't want to be here. I'm a scientist, not a space warrior. There isn't even anyone here with me. Sheppard doesn't count. I'm trapped in a metal coffin in a galaxy I don't even belong in!"

He slapped his hand against the edge of the control panel in frustration. "Dammit! Zelenka would be useful. Not that his ideas are as good as mine, but I admit that he has his moments. I'm not fussy, I'm not looking for someone _real_, a figment of my imagination will do fine!" He paused, as his breathing finally began to slow to a speed approaching its usual rate. "I got Carter last time I was in this sort of situation. _She'd_ be helpful here." He glanced around hopefully, but even his subconscious had apparently deserted him, and stubbornly refused to conjure up a well-timed hallucination.

Suddenly, an alert began flashing on the screen. With something to focus on, Rodney found it surprisingly easy to immediately snap out of his panicked rambling, and concentrate on pulling up as much data as possible instead. His eyes scrolled over the lines of Ancient symbols, and his face paled as he realised the implication. "What?! This is _so_ unfair!"

The space between the stars evidently wasn't finished with trying to make his life harder – and shorter.

The Jumper's radar warned him that an asteroid field lay ahead of him, this lonely orbit far from the nearest sun belted with the remains of an unformed planet, titanic chunks of rock circling the solar system. Too many of them, and too large, for him to simply activate the shield and surf through the debris. "Dammit," he muttered, for the second time in as many minutes. "I need _Sheppard_ for this, not me!" He shot a threatening glare towards the hold, but it didn't appear to have any effect, and he turned back to the screen, placing both hands on the console and taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. "Focus. You can do this, McKay. Just focus." He remained unconvinced by his own pep talk. The only bright side of the situation that he could see was that in the very likely event that he crashed the Jumper into an asteroid and they both died, John would never know about it, and therefore wouldn't have time to yell at him for being useless and screwing up.

Why did the Jumper have to fly so damn _fast_? Already Rodney was nearly at the edge of the field, according to the display. And after a few minutes more (where _did_ those minutes go?) he could see with his own eyes the individual rocks floating through the blackness, drifting silently along their own trajectories, slowly turning over and over.

The thought flashed across his mind that if he got out of this alive, he was going to pay much more attention whenever John tried to correct him on his flying technique – which was pretty much every time he took a turn as pilot.

An asteroid larger than the Jumper glided above him as he dodged another directly ahead of him, the size of a car. Blips on the display indicated as particles barely more than specks of dust and small pebbles harmlessly impacted the shield. Well, he automatically corrected himself, for the moment they were harmless, but they were still draining power, almost imperceptivity, and the cumulative effect would eventually cause the shield to fail. But he should be out into clear space long before that.

_Should_.

Again his eyes fixed on the radar imagery. The field stretched out for hundreds, possibly thousands, of miles across and up, but was remarkably thin width-ways, which was the way he wanted to go. Out. It should only take about half an hour to reach the other side. _Only._ "You can do this," he whispered again, tension tightening his throat. He could hear his pulse thudding against his eardrums, and again wished that the Ancient vessel would just make some _noise_ that could disguise from him the sounds of his fear.

As he carefully guided the Jumper through the debris, Rodney began to feel that he was indeed navigating through a planet's rocky corpse, among shattered shards of bone and the dust of desiccated skin. The asteroids caught the light of distant stars, ghosting around, above, below him. And he was all alone, a tiny speck of life within this unimaginably vast mausoleum.

A near miss with a spinning slab larger than an ocean liner sent his heart hammering into his throat and he swore ferociously, utilising several terms he had picked up from John and the marines. The Jumper half-spun around, skittering and bucking, as he fought to regain control, but the responses were still much slower than usual. A rugged behemoth passed dangerously close to the left drive pod, almost scraping it, and his breath caught in his chest, exhaled suddenly in relief as he finally succeeded in wresting the Jumper back onto its path.

The radar told him that he was nearly through.

And then, emerging from behind a leviathan that could have easily swallowed the CN Tower for breakfast, with plenty of room to spare for seconds, a sight met him that for long moments stole his breath away completely.

Among the asteroids but not one of them, a titanic ship hung before him, its heart punched out by rocks many times over, vicious gashes gouged from its hull, but still instantly recognisable as being of Ancient design. Aurora class. Rodney almost forgot about the danger he was in as he gaped at it, his scientist's brain already calculating the probability that any part of it would be salvageable. His eyes flicked automatically to the display and his eyes widened in surprise.

The vessel was hailing him.

Excitement flooded his system with more adrenaline. Perhaps there were still Ancients on board, sustained through the millennia by stasis pods, as there had been on the _Aurora_… There was also the possibility that the ship was one of those acquisitioned by the Travellers, or that the hail was simply automated, but he pushed both those possibilities to the back of his mind as he pulled up the message.

"This is the Lantean warship _Cygnus_," it proclaimed simply. "Transmit your identification code immediately."

It was automated, and he sighed with disappointment. It had probably been playing with no one to hear it for all of ten thousand years. Or else it had been triggered by the Jumper's approach, some still-functioning system recognising either the proximity or the common origin of the two machines. Either way, right now Rodney had neither the time nor the resources to investigate further, however much he was itching to. Maybe once he was back in Atlantis he would be able to persuade Elizabeth and Sheppard to mount a salvage mission, once the Daedalus returned from Earth. To still be operational at all, it must have some impressive power source, and he felt that he could almost see a brightly glowing ZPM through its battered skeleton. _All the things I could use that for on Atlantis…_

His spooling thoughts sternly reminded him that making plans for what he would do on his arrival in Atlantis was by far the least of his current concerns. Again he examined the data stream from the radar, and this time the readings filled him with a mixture of hope and relief. He was nearly out of the rocky band. Once he had cleared the wreckage of the _Cygnus_, barely any asteroids remained between him and the emptiness which had previously filled him with terror, but right now, having faced the alternative, he couldn't picture anything more desirable.

The display flashed, indicating that the _Cygnus_ had begun broadcasting a new message, and he brought this one up on screen too. It was, as the last one had been, unemotional and to the point.

"You have failed to identify yourself, and have been classed as a threat. Self destruct sequence activated."

_Crap_. So definitely triggered by his approach, then.

Cursing, Rodney brought up the sensor array, hoping desperately that the derelict ship was simply making empty threats. Instead, he was horrified to see that power was indeed building up inside the vessel. Of course, that particular section needed for the destruct sequence _had_ to have remained intact. But no way of telling which that section was and firing off a drone to knock it out. And if he gambled and attacked the wrong section, that would almost certainly bring down even more severe consequences upon his head. Possibly, it would fire directly at him, and there was no way he would survive that.

He was streaming options through his brain. The detonation was probably a security measure, implemented when the ship became immobilised, likely with the intent of preventing its capture by the Wraith or any other enemy. And with the hope of taking out the aforementioned enemy too.

That didn't help him now. All he could do was try to get as far away as possible before it exploded, and took him with it. It really _was_ his day for running into races who had left behind over-sensitive security systems which wanted him dead, wasn't it?

He tried. Concentrating furiously, he increased the Jumper's speed, dodging pieces of the rocks which now seemed to be the lesser of two evils by what felt like hairs' breadths. The scanner was bleeping feverishly, indicating that the power build-up within the _Cygnus_ was reaching critical levels. He knew exactly what was going to happen, and pushed the engines even faster, not managing to avoid a football-sized chunk of debris which would have cannoned straight through the window if not for the shield, but the sudden violent blaze as it impacted and incandesced left sparks dancing in his vision.

The _Cygnus's_ power levels were now taking up most of the display, as the Jumper seemed to try to spur him to greater efforts to save itself and him. "I'm trying!" he shouted half-hysterically to it. "Give me something, dammit!"

The display flashed violently, streams of Ancient warning him of what he already knew. _No time._ He pointed the Jumper towards the nearest area of relatively clear space, and allowed the engines to reach full power, regardless of the danger of smashing into one of the massive asteroids. His eyes flicked between the readings from the _Cygnus_, the visage before him, and the radar. He was nearly through….

Nearly…

"Fly!" Rodney screamed, both hands pressed against the controls, all his energy concentrated on the single thought of _forwards_.

He remembered, almost too late, that the Jumper was programmed only to fly at speeds which it considered safe. _To hell with that._ He jerked upright and yanked open a panel above his head, reaching inside for the crystal which controlled that particular safety protocol. It was charged with electricity and burning hot, searing the flesh of his palm as he grasped it tightly and pulled, screaming with the pain. And the Jumper still answered his thoughts, moving faster, faster…

Nearly through…

Nearly…

The _Cygnus_ exploded.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you very much for the reviews and alerts! :D So glad that people are enjoying this. Please do continue to keep sending them, they make me very happy!**

**Also, because it's been asked, I think I should point out that the sections happening on the planet are flashbacks; the present storyline is in the Jumper. Hope that's all clear now :)  
**

* * *

"Rodney!" He could vaguely hear Teyla still shouting into her radio as the ground beneath his feet boiled upwards and he flung himself inside the Jumper, somehow managing to avoid being pulverised by the blast itself, but he was slammed against the floor painfully and gasped for breath while soil rained down outside and onto the ramp. His side felt numb. He was still clutching the life signs detector, and, unreasonably, the sight of it conjured a brief flicker of triumph.

"John! Rodney! Can you hear me?"

There wasn't any time for answering. No more seconds for him to waste. He pulled himself dizzily upright and tried to dart through to the cockpit – but, being McClumsy instead of action-hero-Sheppard, he instead managed to trip over one of said action-hero's arms and went sprawling to the floor again. Gulping in air, he somehow managed to heave himself upright as shudders were transmitted up through the floor from outside. And then he was _finally_ stumbling into the front compartment and collapsing heavily into the pilot's chair, his heart pounding in his ears and fluttering in his chest.

And there was still _no time_. He flailed for the controls, sealing the open back hatch at the same time as he lifted up from the ground, turning the Jumper towards the Gate, fervently grateful for the navigation system which had immediately appeared on the display. He didn't need to be worrying about directions on top of everything else.

"MCKAY!" Ronon was yelling in his ear, in the tone of one who has been repeating themselves for a long time, and growing increasingly frustrated about it.

"What?" he snapped back.

Teyla's voice took over, breathless but somehow still managing to keep her air of calm which could be infuriating at times. "Rodney, we are almost at the Gate. Where are you?"

"In the Jumper, with Sheppard. Trying to get to the Gate before the apocalypse, which looks like it's about to happen any second now!"

"Hurry up, McKay!" Ronon again, and Rodney rolled his eyes at the man's words. Yes, he was _really_ going to decide that now was a good time for a picnic, wasn't he?

"I'm _trying_ to!" he growled in frustration, the trees hurtling past below him. Surely the Gate couldn't be much further? More importantly, how on Earth did Teyla and Ronon manage to move that fast? It just wasn't natural. But then, they were probably grateful for the lack of a complaining astrophysicist to slow them down.

With the mines still detonating across the landscape in their pre-set pattern, any chance of using the scanners to pick up his teams' life signs was pretty much non-existent, so Rodney had to restrict himself to scanning the surface by eye as he swept above it, confident that one or the other would radio him if the Jumper passed over their heads without him noticing them.

Finally the Gate came into view, and it was one of the most welcome sights that he had ever seen. And – there! Two figures speeding across the scrubland towards it.

Not wanting them to have to slow down, he punched the Atlantis Gate address into the Jumper's DHD without tearing his eyes from the window, and sent his IDC as soon as the familiar blue of the event horizon burst into life. "Go!" he shouted into his radio. "Get through!"

For a second they were silhouetted against the Gate as he dropped the Jumper's altitude. And then, very suddenly, it was as if a fireball erupted from the ground all around the gate, flinging rocks and soil high into the air, and outwards in all directions. A shriek escaped him as he frantically pulled the Jumper into a near-vertical climb to avoid the wall of missile-like chunks of rock and dirt. And then, still in the space of seconds since that first explosion, while he was still to take in a breath following his shout to his teammates, the second wave detonated, right beneath the dust cloud which obscured the Gate.

A deafening bang, and a concussive wave of air which slammed through the Jumper, inertial dampeners or no inertial dampeners, sent Rodney flying from his seat and thudding into the nearest wall at the same time as a blinding flare of light bleached his vision, burning his retinas.

He lay in a undignified heap on the floor, blinking again and again to try and clear his sight. Somewhere there was pain, quite a lot of pain, but there was a numbness in his mind which was holding it at bay. Without quite understanding, he _knew_ that something was badly wrong, and knew too exactly what it would be. As soon as he could, he pulled himself upright and stumbled to the console, staring out of the window as his vision blurred and coloured specks danced in his eyes.

Below him was a massive crater, indicating a blast of a magnitude his overloaded brain didn't really want to try to comprehend.

And the Stargate was gone.

* * *

John came to awareness slowly and painfully. A brass band was crashing in his skull, and when he managed to crack his eyes open, the light very nearly blinded him.

_What the hell?_

He couldn't find more than vague memories; something about explosions, and running through grass… and now this. He would have expected the infirmary, to be honest, but he had been confined there enough times to become all too intimate with the place, and wherever he was right now, it certainly wasn't there. There was no soft bleeping of machines, no quiet footsteps on hard floors, none of the antiseptic smell in the air, no comforting murmur of Carson's brogue. In fact, there seemed to be no human noises at all, only the gentle hum and vibration which he had come to identify with Lantean machines.

With an effort, he at last managed to get his eyes fully open. The curved ceiling above him told him immediately _where_ he was – the Jumpers' ceilings were even more familiar than the ceiling of the infirmary, and thankfully so – but told him nothing about _why_. And that was a question which struck his confused brain as being especially pertinent, although he couldn't find any satisfactory answer to it. Because if he had been injured – no, he corrected himself as he attempted to lift his head, scratch the 'if' – then surely they should be safely back through the Gate by now?

That thought drew his attention to another unanswerable question. Where was his team? He became aware that there was something soft under his head, and something which felt like a blanket laid over him, but where was everyone? Rodney, of course, would be piloting the Jumper during his incapacitation, but his feelings were slightly hurt by the fact that Teyla, or even Ronon, wasn't here with him.

Well, time to let them know that he was awake. And also to try to hint, without whining except as a last resort (he wasn't McKay, after all), that he would rather have preferred not to have been left alone.

On his first attempt, his voice didn't quite work in the way he was expecting it to, and what came out of his mouth was more reminiscent of a pained grunt than actual words. He swallowed hard, wetting his throat, and tried again. "Hey? Anyone there?"

Ok, maybe slightly weaker and more pathetic-sounding than he would have liked, but if anyone had heard it, it should suffice for at least basic communication efforts.

He waited for several long moments, blinking repeatedly to adjust his eyes to the light which still seemed intent on lancing through to the inside of his skull.

"Guys?" he tried again, gratified to hear that his voice was once again beginning to approach the volume he was accustomed to. Again, there was no reply.

Frowning (before he discovered that that hurt, and stopped), John tried to work out again what was going on. He had no memories of making it to the Jumper, still less of tucking himself in with blankets. Which suggested that one of the other members of his team had to have done that. But in that case, where _were_ they?

Fuelled by determination, and a growing worry, John rolled over and pushed himself to his knees, trying to ignore the violent increase of the pounding inside his skull, and the dark specks which briefly obscured his vision. Then, once he had paused to regain both his breath and his balance, he levered himself to his feet using the closest bench, and again had to pause for several long seconds to catch his breath and orient himself. Not that a Jumper possessed a particularly confusing layout, as those things went. Still, it was quite enough to momentarily bemuse a rather concussed Air Force Colonel. He could imagine Rodney's voice in the back of his mind, telling him to hurry up, because he didn't have all day to hang around waiting for Sheppard to get his act together for the _nth_ time.

"Yeah, yeah," John muttered, barely aware that he was speaking aloud. "Give me a moment here, ok? You'd certainly expect the same treatment if it were…"

His voice trailed off, because he had just reached the bulkhead doors, and could see into the cockpit for the first time. And the thing which immediately grabbed his attention was the sight of Rodney sprawled on the floor, his hand clutched around a crystal which had apparently been wrenched from an open control panel. Even from a distance, through eyes which still refused to quite focus, the red burn welts were visible around the edges of his palm, and the skin that he couldn't currently see was almost certainly worse off.

And beyond the windscreen was the darkness of deep space, dotted with constellations which he didn't recognise. Whatever had gone wrong, it would appear to be slightly more serious than he had initially thought.

Dropping to his knees beside Rodney, he was relieved to find a slow pulse beating in the scientist's neck as he breathed.

"McKay?" he asked anxiously, but elicited no response. He jogged his friend's shoulder gently, mindful of any injuries which were not currently apparent to him. "McKay, can you hear me?"

Still nothing. "McKay, what the hell is going on? Why are we in space?"

That reminded him – who was flying? He would have jumped up and run to investigate, but that was rather beyond him right now. Still, he managed the same basic manoeuvre, just at a rather slower speed. The Jumper was apparently on autopilot. And moving at maximum velocity, out through space, towards another planet altogether. John blinked confusedly, but Rodney had left him no handy annotations along with the instructions to the Jumper's systems by way of explanation.

John let himself slide back down to the floor. It was more comfortable there, and he had at least the slight company afforded to him by Rodney's unconscious body, although that wasn't much. "McKay!" he said again, nudging the scientist's shoulder. "Wake up!"

But McKay, stubborn as always, refused to do so.

It occurred to him to try and understand what had actually happened. He wasn't certain what the open control panel actually controlled, but perhaps the crystal itself would be able to give him a clue. Cautiously he touched the edge of the crystal still clutched tightly in Rodney's hand, but it seemed inert and not likely to burn him. _Hopefully_. Grasping the edge of it between finger and thumb, he began to slide it out.

To his surprise, the hand around the crystal suddenly tightened its grip. "L'go," came an almost indistinct mumble.

"McKay?" Again there was no response, so John pulled on the crystal again, gently but firmly. It slid out of Rodney's fist – and Rodney's eyes opened.

"Ow," he mumbled. And then, seemingly focusing on John, "Did you shoot me again?"

John was so relieved to see the scientist awake and apparently coherent that he ignored the unfairness of the accusation. "Are you ok?"

"Oh, peachy," Rodney grumbled. "My head hurts, my back hurts, and now that you've finally decided to stop acting like a sack of potatoes all you seem able to do is ask stupid questions. It's a wonder that – AH!" He had just moved the fingers of his burned hand, and his face suddenly clenched tight in pain, instantly draining of most of its remaining colour. "Ow," he moaned. "Ow ow ow. That _really_ hurts…"

John grabbed his wrist, and turned his hand upwards. The palm was blistered an angry crimson, darker where the crystal had touched his skin. It did, indeed, look agonising. "Jesus, McKay, what did you do?"

"You need to… put the crystal back," Rodney groaned. "It controls the safety protocols."

"Why did you remove it then?" John asked, not at that moment bothered about the answer, but wanting to keep Rodney talking. He was very pale, and there was a faint sheen of sweat around his hairline, speaking to the amount of pain he was in. John doubted that it was all from his burned hand.

"Because I have a death wish," Rodney said. "No, wait, I'm mistaken, that's you. Why the _hell_ did you decide to go back for the Jumper, Colonel?"

"Back for – what? When?"

Rodney gave him a look which, even when filled with pain, still managed to be condescending. "On the planet. Lots of explosions everywhere. Very dangerous, so you decided to take a nice scenic trip to grab the Jumper. I had to save your sorry ass, and look where that's got me."

"Yeah, McKay, look where that _has_ got us. We're in space! What the hell're we doing here?"

"Yes, I'm sure you'd rather have been blown to bits on the planet surface! A little gratitude would be nice, don't you think?" Fuelled by anger, he started to sit up, and immediately slumped back down again. "Crap," he whispered.

John stopped baiting him, and crawled over. "McKay. Look at me. I know your hand's hurt, but what else? Specifically?"

"Don't know," Rodney groaned. "I hurt everywhere. Must have got flung against the walls or something. I _knew_ it was the inertial dampeners' fault."

Bemused, John let that particular comment pass by. "C'mon, help me out here. I can't do anything to help you if you don't tell me what needs doing."

"Uh, my head's killing me. And my back. And all my ribs. And my side. And my hand. Satisfied?"

John managed to grab the first aid kit stowed under the co-pilot's seat without moving from his spot on the floor, and found a couple of packs of Tylenol, one of which he tossed to Rodney. There was also a syringe of morphine, which he strongly suspected was only in there by accident. At any rate, he wasn't going to touch it if it wasn't absolutely necessary, or Beckett would probably murder him. "Here. These might help a bit." He opened his own pack and pulled out a couple of tablets, which he dry-swallowed. Rodney had made no move towards his. "You aren't taking any?"

Rodney shot him a baleful look, but obviously couldn't be bothered or couldn't spare the effort to make a snide retort. Instead he simply used his left hand to point at his right.

"Oh. Sorry." Feeling slightly ashamed, John handed him two pills from his pack, which Rodney shoved into his mouth as if they held the secrets of eternal life. "So," he asked. "What happened?"

For someone who spent such a lot of his time talking, Rodney could be extremely succinct when he wanted to be. He managed to completely sum up the events of earlier in a few bleak sentences, after which they both sat silently for some time.

"Teyla and Ronon…" John said finally.

Rodney stared down at the floor, avoiding eye contact. "I couldn't see. But… they were right by the Gate when I lost sight of them. It would have only taken a few seconds for them to get through. I'm sure… I'm sure they made it." His voice was tinged with desperation.

"They must have done," John agreed, after a pause. His words sounded hollow in his ears, and he tried to make them more reassuring. "They'll be safe at home, waiting for us."

Rodney didn't reply.

A heavy silence stretched out between them, around them. Around and over and above them, for miles upon miles upon miles.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I take it my last chapter wasn't too great :P Ah well, I hope you like this one more! :D**

**Thank you as always to the people who've reviewed, alerted and favourited, it's really nice of you :)**

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"Sheppard!" Rodney called sharply, and John peeled open his eyelids, with a sense of aggravation that the rest he felt he deserved had been denied.

"What?"

Rodney looked relieved. "Good, you're awake. I've been calling your name for at ages."

"I…what?"

"You have a concussion," Rodney explained slowly, as if to a very small child. "You aren't allowed to go to sleep, it's too dangerous. And Beckett'll kill me if I let you." The effect of his speech was ruined by the fact that he was still lying in the same position on the floor, looking even paler, if that were possible.

"How're you feeling?" John asked, instantly concerned as he noticed the clamminess of Rodney's skin, and the unhealthy glassiness to his eyes.

"Perfect," Rodney said shortly. "Think you can give me another couple of Tylenol?"

"You've just taken some."

"No, that was hours ago. You've been asleep, remember? Try to keep up."

John obediently tossed the requested tablets over. "Did they help before?"

"No."

He lapsed into silence again. Whether it really was dangerous or not for him to fall asleep (he couldn't really remember what Beckett had said, but suspected that Rodney might be slightly mistaken), John was feeling rather better. For one thing, the Jumper seemed to be entirely more stable, and the pressure in his skull had begun to recede, allowing him to think more clearly. "Let me take a look at your hand."

"You've already seen it," Rodney said. And then, at John's raised eyebrows, "Oh, alright then. Knock yourself out."

It looked worse than he remembered. The skin at the darkened centre of the deep burn was lifting away from the tissues underneath, blackening. "Ouch," he said. Rodney gave him a look which said, _You think?_, which he ignored. "I'm going to wrap it up," he said firmly.

There was a pause.

"That'll hurt," Rodney said, in a very small voice.

"It's hurting right now."

"Well, yes, but you'll make it worse!"

"No, it'll protect it from _you_ making it worse."

"Go on then," groaned Rodney, with the air of one who had just volunteered to have Carson shoot an apple off his head using a drone.

John retrieved a dressing and a length of bandage from the first aid kit and began wrapping Rodney's hand carefully, purposely ignoring the soft whimpering that Rodney was making at the back of his throat, and obviously trying to suppress. From past experience he knew all too well how painful burns could be, particularly deep ones, such as this was. Finally he had finished, and secured the end with a piece of tape. "How does that feel?" he asked tentatively.

"Worse," came the annoyed answer, as he had suspected it would.

"Where's the autopilot taking us?" John asked, partly to distract Rodney from the pain he was in, and partly because he really _did_ want to know. He was surprised that it had taken him so long to remember to ask.

Rodney had closed his eyes, but jerked them open. "To the nearest planet with a Stargate. The one we just left wasn't really the best place to hang around and wait to be picked up."

"How long will that take?"

"Well, we're in a binary system, so the nearest one's actually not that far away. Around twenty hours or so altogether. I think we've already used up a few of them."

John nodded absently, but he was still examining Rodney carefully. He looked far worse than he should have just as a result of having his hand burnt. He trawled back through the things he had said just after his awakening. "You said your side hurt."

"I said _everything_ hurt, Colonel. But yes, I'll add my side to that list."

"What did you do to it?"

"Oh, you mean apart from getting blown up _twice_?"

John slid closer to him across the floor. "You fell back down as soon as you tried to sit up and moved the right side of your body."

Rodney's arm was close against himself protectively, but whether it was because of his hand or something else John didn't know. He intended to find out. "Can you roll over a bit, so I can take a look?"

"You're a worse doctor than Carson is," Rodney huffed, but did as he was asked, biting back a gasp of pain which ended his complaining.

John ignored the barb, unzipping the scientist's jacket and pulling it back. Then he pulled his knife from his pocket and used it to cut through Rodney's shirt, parting the cloth back. He swore.

"What is it?" Rodney asked anxiously.

At John's silence, he twisted his neck, to peer at the massive dark reddish-purple discolouration wrapped around his side, beneath his skin. "Oh," he said, in a soft voice.

"That's…" John paused, and started again. "I'm no doctor, but that looks several hours old, which means you got that from the first explosion. You've been walking around like that all the time? Jesus, McKay!"

"I didn't know," Rodney explained weakly. "It must have been shock or something, but I've only been hurting badly since after the _Cygnus_. The homicidal Ancient ship, that is. Didn't know I was…" He took another look at it and twisted up his face as though he wanted to be sick. "I was feeling lightheaded and dizzy, but, uh, I thought there was something wrong with the inertial dampeners, and they weren't working properly to keep the internal gravity field constant…" He began to laugh quietly, and then louder.

John grasped his shoulder. "McKay, stop that." Then, as the scientist's laughter got louder and more hysterical, he raised his own voice. "Rodney! Shut up!"

That did it. As Rodney took in gulps of air, his body shaking still, John looked closer at the bruising.

"I'm not an exhibit," Rodney snapped, as soon as he had enough breath to do so.

"Sorry." John folded his shirt back, hiding the bruising from sight, and scooted back to the opposite wall.

"So how bad is it?" asked Rodney, after a few seconds.

He didn't think there was much to be gained by sugar-coating it. "I've seen men with worse internal bleeding. But yeah, it doesn't look too good."

Rodney groaned. "Great. That's just perfect. I'm going to die."

"McKay!" John would have shaken him if he wasn't wary of causing him further injury. "You aren't going to die!"

"Oh yes, easy for you to say, Colonel know-it-all!"

"You can't die on me and leave me to sit through god-knows how many hours drifting though space with just your rotting corpse to keep me company."

"Yes I can. It'll serve you right for insulting me so often." He still hadn't opened his eyes.

John tried again. "What'll I say to Jeannie?"

That seemed to elicit some real response, because Rodney took a moment to think about it. "It's not like she'd care. Just – tell her that I died doing something heroic."

"Rodney, look at me!" John waited until his eyes were open again, and resting on his face. "You aren't going to die. And when you next see Jeannie, you can tell her that you _survived_ doing something heroic."

"She won't believe me."

"Ok then, I'll tell her that."

"What's heroic about lying in agony in a Jumper waiting to be rescued?"

John groaned. McKay really could be a stubborn son of a bitch when he wanted to. "You've just gone through two explosions, and saved my ass in both of them! What more do you want to do, end your day by eliminating all the Wraith in the galaxy in one sweep?"

"That'd be nice. Do you think they'd give me the Nobel prize for that?"

John rolled his eyes, and resisted the urge to smack his friend around the head. "Well, I've heard the Nobel can't be awarded posthumously, so it would be a bit pointless to die now, wouldn't it?"

"You may have a point there. But in any case, they're hardly going to award the Nobel for work which is _classified_, will they?"

"If it's so important to you, quit and get another job!"

"I might, you know."

John grinned. "I thought you were going to die."

Rodney huffed. "Yes, yes, very funny. Bait the dying man. Very mature of you, Colonel." But he looked slightly more animated than he had a few moments ago.

"So, given that you're dying, shall I presume that I shouldn't waste any water on you?" John asked, hoping that keeping Rodney talking, or at least doing something, would prevent him from slipping back into lethargy.

Rodney glared, and held out his good hand, clearly not seeing the need to bother verbalising his answer. John grinned. "Manners don't cost anything."

"Nor does messing with the heating controls in your room."

"Ok, ok." He tore open a rehydration sachet from the first aid kit, and poured the contents into one of the water bottles, shaking it to mix it, before removing the cap again and handing it carefully over.

Rodney took a sip, and screwed his face up. "This tastes disgusting."

"Tough. You need the stuff in it."

"Because all my blood's sloshing around under my skin instead of in my veins so I need the electrolytes, yes, I know. But would it be too much trouble to flavour those things so it's _possible_ to drink them?"

It still surprised John how Rodney could manage to melodramatically insist he was dying at the same time as complain about everything which would actually _help_ him. That reminded him of something else, as he took the bottle back again. "McKay, when did you last eat?"

Rodney shrugged, plainly showing that he wasn't too impressed with John's attempts at playing nursemaid. "At breakfast."

There were a couple of powerbars in the first aid kit. Rodney really did seem to stash them everywhere. John tore one open and threw it over. "Eat it," he ordered.

"Not hungry," Rodney muttered stubbornly.

John slapped him, although very lightly, on the shoulder. "Jesus, are you _trying_ to be as irritating as possible? You aren't going to be much use if you slip into a hypoglycaemic coma, are you?"

"At least then I wouldn't have to listen to you anymore," Rodney snarked back, but he picked up the powerbar with his good hand and devoured it in very few bites. "You've been taking lessons from Beckett in nagging," he complained, with his mouth full.

"And in common sense. Which you seem to have a distinct lack of at the moment."

Rodney balled up the powerbar wrapper with his good hand and threw it at John. It didn't quite make it halfway across the small distance between them, and Rodney screwed up his face again, the action having obviously aggravated the pain he was in. "Yes, like you have any. Why _am_ I here again, instead of nice and safe back in my lab in Atlantis? With coffee," he added, as an afterthought.

There wasn't really a response to that. Silence filled the Jumper.

John let himself lie down on the floor. His head was _really_ beginning to hurt again, and now that they had stopped bickering, it seemed a herculean effort to keep his eyes open and his brain working.

"You aren't going to sleep, are you?" he heard Rodney ask anxiously. "Because you aren't allowed to. I've already told you that."

John's eyes were already closed. "Shut up, McKay," he mumbled. Rodney didn't, of course, but he tuned the words out. The sound was oddly comforting as he allowed himself to drift off.

* * *

"Sheppard?" Rodney asked again, but not very hopefully. He was trying to recall everything Beckett had said about looking after someone with a concussion, and wishing that he had paid more attention. Maybe it had been something about letting them sleep if they wanted to, as long as you woke them up every hour or so. Not that there was much _letting_ going on here. John had just lain down on the floor, and since then had completely stopped responding to any attempt made to wake him up verbally. Rodney rather suspected that it could take him the complete hour John was allowed to sleep for him to make it across the floor to wake him up with a poke in the ribs.

He was wishing for unconsciousness himself, but he seemed to be in too much pain to let himself relax the required amount. _God_, his side hurt. He tried to bring his left hand over to explore it, but let it drop back down again, shaking. He couldn't bring himself to touch it.

Why couldn't he have stayed in blissful unawareness of it until he reached Atlantis?

It was so ridiculously unfair that he could hardly move, when Sheppard was currently enjoying a nice sleep. Well, that wasn't really true, he decided after a second's consideration. It probably wasn't a very nice sleep, and he didn't look particularly healthy either. Half of the man's face was beginning to disappear underneath heavy bruising, and there was coagulating blood oozing down from his hairline.

Rodney groaned. _What the hell_. He let his head too rest against the floor, and closed his eyes.

And then the Jumper began to again beep for his attention.

"Sheppard!" he said sharply. John didn't stir.

The beeping got louder. "What do you want _now_?" he asked the Jumper furiously. "Why can't you just give me a nice easy ride home?"

The crystal still on the floor caught his eye. _Damn_. "Sheppard, I said you needed to replace it!"

Of course, John didn't leap up and apologise, and replace the crystal. "Why do you need this?" he asked, again talking to the Jumper. "Can't you just work out for yourself what's safe and what isn't?"

He could guess what the problem was, of course. He hadn't slowed the Jumper's speed after the emergency action of removing the crystal preventing it from going dangerously fast. And now it _was_ going dangerously fast. Fast enough that the autopilot wouldn't be able to handle navigating around any objects which might suddenly appear.

"I'm not enjoying this, you know," he said, more than a little angrily. "Why can't I have any _good_ luck today? You know, just for a change."

Hopefully, he stared at the crystal, but it stubbornly refused to move of its own accord. "Don't be so selfish," he told it. "_You_ aren't the one who's injured."

He thought about that for a moment. "You're a crystal." Another moment passed, while he considered the implications of that. "You can't hear me, can you?" Once again, it failed to respond. He groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Oh God, I'm talking to a crystal. I'm losing my mind."

"You are," the crystal agreed.

Rodney opened his eyes again, to see if it had started moving, as well as talking, but it still lay innocently on the floor. "Huh. How about that."

"Why's the Jumper making that noise?" the crystal asked him.

"What?" Oh, right, the alarm. "It's an alarm," he said.

"Yes, I got that part." This crystal had a surprisingly sarcastic personality.

"Well, it means that something alarming is going to happen." An alarm. How alarming. He laughed a bit, because that struck him as quite funny.

"McKay, shut up!" The crystal apparently didn't have much of a sense of humour, either. "Focus!"

"Alright, alright," he told it sulkily. "The Jumper's going too fast."

"Why's it doing that?"

There didn't seem much point in trying to explain the finer points of Jumper engineering to a crystal. "A component's missing."

"What component?"

Well, that was a stupid question. "You should know that, considering I pulled you out!"

"McKay?"

"_What_?" He was getting a bit fed up of the crystal, actually, and wishing that it would just go back to being inanimate. Its personality was too similar to Sheppard's. Come to think of it, its voice was quite similar to Sheppard's, too.

"Are you talking to a _crystal_?"

"You're answering me!" he told it defensively. A talking crystal was one thing, but one which thought it _couldn't_ talk? Something was clearly wrong with its sanity.

"McKay! I'm not a damn crystal!"

He looked around him, and to his surprise saw that John was awake again, and staring at him. "I was joking," he explained weakly, and a sardonic smile tugged the corners of John's mouth upwards. It was strangely reassuring.

"Yeah, sure you were." He paused a moment, letting Rodney know without a doubt that he hadn't been fooling _anyone_. "So. Crystal. Want to tell me where it goes?"

"Uh…" Why was it so goddamn _hard_ to think? "Panel. In the ceiling. It's open."

John picked up the crystal and stood up slowly, his hand seeking support against the Jumper's wall. "Is it going to burn me when I put it back in?" he asked.

Rodney would have rolled his eyes, but it didn't seem worth the effort. "No. It burnt me because the power running through it heated it up. As there is currently no power running through it, I'd rate your chances of being burnt by it as quite slim."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty much. Look, if you don't get on and replace it, burning your hand will be the least of our worries, believe me."

John raised his eyebrows, and looked pointedly unconvinced. But after a glance at it, he slotted it into place, pulling his hand back quickly before anything untoward could happen. The alarm shut off. "It worked," he said, sounding quite surprised.

Rodney felt slightly injured at the insinuation. "Well, of course it worked. I said it would."

"Yeah, that's not a reason to be filled with confidence, in my book."

He tried to think of a comeback, but couldn't. "Mmm," he said instead, which didn't sound quite as clever out loud as it had in his head.

That had John peering at him, with an odd expression on his face. "How long do you think it'll be now?"

Rodney looked at his watch, but it didn't make much sense. "What's the time?"

"Three."

"Am or pm?"

John shrugged. "Yes."

"Oh, very funny, Colonel."

"What can I say? That thing which you and Zelenka appear to think passes for humour has rubbed off on me."

Rodney ignored him, trying to think about the problem he'd been set. "It'll be… a long time."

"Is that the best answer you can come up with?"

"Yes," Rodney said shortly.

"Your so-called genius just pays for itself, doesn't it?"

He sighed. "I'm sure you think you're hilarious, but not – " He began to cough, trying to clear the tickle in his chest, but somehow couldn't stop, and he juddered, pain spasming through him as his whole body was wracked by the coughing, gasping for breath. He was dimly aware that John was holding his shoulder, shouting to him, but he couldn't make out the words.

He was pushed down, to lie on his uninjured side. Suddenly, with his chest less constricted, he found that he could take in air again. He felt the cold plastic of an oxygen mask pressed against his face, and tasted the sterile air with a sense of relief. But his lungs still burned, and he kept coughing between breaths, and there was the taste of iron now in his mouth.

"Crap," John was saying, his face scored with deep frown lines. He lifted away the mask and dabbed a piece of white cloth (where had it come from?) around his lips and chin. Rodney pushed it away impatiently, and saw the red stain spread across it. "Crap," John repeated.

Rodney had the vague idea that he had done something wrong, something John didn't like. "Sorry," he mumbled, as the mask was replaced.

"What're you sorry for?" John sounded confused, but he couldn't answer.

He felt John turn his arm over, and rest something cold against it. He struggled to ask what he was doing.

"Easy," he heard John's voice saying, from a long way away. "I've got something to help. Just keep breathing, ok?"

There was a momentary prick as the needle slid into his skin and the contents of the syringe were discharged into a vein. And then the relief it brought was swirling through him, his breathing easing and his eyes closing without him even noticing.

Somewhere, John still seemed to be talking to him. "McKay!" He felt pressure as his shoulder was jostled slightly.

Such a lot of noise. Here he was trying to sleep...


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: You guys are great and have restored my confidence in this story :) Thank you _very _much to everyone leaving reviews, and also for alerts and favourites. It's lovely! :D**

* * *

He opened his eyes. His senses and his thoughts seemed to be muffled with cotton wool. He was covered with something warm.

"Hi," John said, quietly.

"Hi," Rodney croaked back. He felt that he ought to say something more. "You're ver' blurry."

John smiled, but strangely, as if he were reluctant to do so. "Sorry, buddy. Don't mean to be."

"An-noying." Just like Sheppard, to come up with endless novel ways with which to irritate him.

"Yeah, I know." The cold rim of a canteen pressed against his mouth. "Drink some of this."

He spluttered down a couple of mouthfuls of the strange tasting water, until John pulled it away. "How long 'til home?" he asked, hopefully.

"It's not far," John told him firmly. "Just another mile or so."

"Liar." Tilting his head, he could see to the window, and the stars. Mile upon mile of bright, shining stars. Pretty…

"A _long_ mile, then," John admitted. "We'll get home, don't worry."

"S'good."

"Yeah. Yeah, it is."

He closed his eyes again.

* * *

John watched Rodney slip into unconsciousness, and adjusted the blanket where it had slipped down as Rodney drank. He wondered if he ought to try and keep him awake, but also felt that it was probably kinder to just let him sleep, with the morphine shielding him from pain. Besides, the pounding in his own head was considerably lessened now, such that he could be confident in his own mental facilities to take charge.

He pulled himself to his feet, and, sliding into the pilot's chair, checked the HUD again. The Jumper was still happily steering itself along the autopilot course which Rodney had laid out for it. He wished that he had managed to obtain details of _which_ planet exactly they were headed for – 'the nearest one with a Gate' was only a useful description if you had previously taken the time to commit to memory details about all the planets in the system, which of course Rodney had, and of course he would assume that everyone else on the team had done the same.

That line of thinking led back to the planet, and what had happened there. Back to Teyla and Ronon, and his hands clenched the chair arms. They _had_ to have made it back to Atlantis safely. Because if not… He shook his head sharply, wincing at the pain it revived within his skull. Best not to go down that trail.

But that only left him with the option to wonder again about where they were going. He peered out, ignoring the radar, wishing pointlessly, hopelessly, to see the familiar bulk of the _Daedalus_ sailing to meet them, along the stellar currents.

How long had Rodney said it would take? Twenty hours? He checked the navigational computer. They had been floating through space for about ten. That measurement instinctively felt wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on whether he thought it should have been longer, or shorter. After all, they had both been slipping in and out of consciousness for a not insubstantial portion of it.

Out of boredom, and habit, he turned on the radio. "This is Sheppard, does anyone read me?"

Of course, there was nothing, but he tried again. "Colonel John Sheppard in Puddlejumper One, requesting assistance. Anyone hear me? Anyone? Any aliens sitting around feeling lonely and wanting to have a chat?"

_No, just you,_ he imagined the stars saying, and grinned.

"Come on, someone talk to me, otherwise I'll go stir crazy and start talking to myself, like McKay does."

That made the grin slip, and made him guiltily check behind him, but Rodney didn't appear to have heard. He would have much preferred it if he had. Leaving the seat, he once again sat himself down opposite the scientist. "You ok there?" he asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

Since that terrifying moment when he had been sure that his friend had been about to die, Rodney's breathing had mercifully steadied out. But it was still shallow, and his pulse was weak and thready.

They were running out of time…

Ten hours. Just ten hours of nice smooth flying, and then they would both be safe back in Atlantis.

Rodney's eyes cracked open. "You with me, McKay?" he asked gently.

"Mmm."

"Here." He unscrewed the top of the canteen, and again helped Rodney to take a drink, supporting his head, and feeling humiliation on the part of his friend. Rodney _hated_ relying on others. It was one of the reasons why it felt so _wrong_ to be in this position. "You up to eating anything?" he asked.

"No," Rodney muttered.

"Well, you probably should anyway." He could see a powerbar poking out of one of the pockets of Rodney's discarded tac vest, and extracted it. Tearing open the wrapper, he broke off a piece and held it out.

"Don't poke my food," Rodney said, and John was encouraged to see that at least he was no longer slurring.

"Your hand, remember?"

"Oh." Thankfully, he didn't try to experimentally move it, as John had been afraid he would. "I forgot." He eyed the piece of powerbar. "It doesn't have citrus in, does it? Because I'm allergic."

"Rodney, I think the entire galaxy knows about your citrus allergy by now. And if it does have citrus in, why were you carrying it around in your pocket?"

"S'pose." He took it and chewed it slowly, finally swallowing as if it was something of an effort. "Am I allowed to go to sleep again now?"

"I didn't wake you up," John pointed out. "You did that yourself."

"Hmm."

He took advantage of Rodney's temporary lucidity to ask, "How're you feeling?"

"Hurts," Rodney admitted. His face still had that sheen of sweat, and was faintly grey. Lines of pain puckered his mouth. Clearly, the morphine was already beginning to wear off.

"You just lie still, and we're be home before we know it."

"Platitudes don't suit you, Colonel," Rodney muttered, only a hint of his usual snark in his voice.

"What can I say? If the hat fits..."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Does."

"Doesn't."

"Does too."

John waited for a reply, but there wasn't one. Rodney's eyes were closed again. "Hey," he said, sharply. "McKay, c'mon. Your turn for a completely pointless remark."

There was still no reply.

* * *

Rodney dozed, sliding in and out of a cloud of pain, but never managing to completely leave it behind. With his ear against the floor, there _was_ some slight noise or vibration or something from the Jumper's engines, and he felt oddly vindicated by the discovery. It blended in and out with Sheppard's voice, his words becoming clearer or more indistinct by turns.

Every now and then there was cold metal against his lips, and liquid in his mouth, and he swallowed.

Every now and then there was a memory from the planet that seemed almost like a dream; him standing over Sheppard's motionless body, and trying to decide what to do. A moment of blinding clarity where he knew that he could leave Sheppard there, and run for the Gate, and make it in time.

_But we don't leave a man behind..._

"How're you feeling, Rodney?" Sheppard asked. He was touching his forehead, which was weird, and kind of unsettling, but he didn't feel he had the energy to do anything about it.

Sheppard would know what he was thinking. He would know… "Sorry," he managed, and then slid back into the darkness and lessening of pain before he could catch any response.

* * *

John was asleep when he next sort-of-woke, a deck of cards spread out in front of him in a half-completed game of solitaire. He was snoring gently. Rodney tried to squint at the watch on his un-wrist-banded arm, to see how long he'd been out, but it was too far away to read.

He felt fuzzy, and wondered if he should be fighting the effects of the morphine. But they'd be back on Atlantis soon, and then it wouldn't matter, anyway.

Soon...

* * *

Solitaire had very quickly lost its novelty, and sleep had seemed the most attractive way of passing the time of the Jumper ride, since the autopilot still seemed to be functioning perfectly well on its own, and he wouldn't know in which direction to manually fly, anyway. John had set the alarm on his watch to wake him up when he calculated he would still have plenty of time to react to approaching the destination planet, but his first reaction on being dragged from sleep by the insistent mechanical beeping was one of disappointment. He'd secretly been hoping that it would be a hail on the radio acting as a wake-up call instead.

The alarm didn't seem to have any effect on Rodney. He still seemed dead to the world, and John winced as soon as he recognised that his subconscious had dredged up _that_ particular metaphor. Right now, it looked far too close to the truth to be comfortable. For one horrible second he thought that his friend wasn't breathing, but after a few heart-stopping moments he managed to catch the gentle rise and fall of the blanket covering him, and let out a long breath which was also a sigh of relief.

They would be home soon.

He stood up, intending to head for the pilot's seat and pull up the HUD, but half-way through the cockpit, his steps were suddenly arrested.

He stared out of the window. And swore, loudly, forgetting that he was trying not to wake Rodney.

The planet they were heading for was, at long last, clearly visible, a world of ochre and gold from this distance, with barely any wisps of cloud to obscure the vast desert covering the surface.

And between it, and them, were two hive ships.

* * *

After the first moment of incredulousness he sprang into action, almost automatically, sliding quickly into the chair and switching the controls back to manual. A glance at the HUD he had just pulled up confirmed what he had already guessed – the hives were stationed almost directly above the planet's Gate. If this planet was inhabited, a culling was probably already in progress, although it was possible that the hives were simply using this remote part of the galaxy as a rendezvous spot. He considered his options.

He could try to fly the Jumper down to the planet anyway, relying on the cloak and on luck that he would be able to break through the defences which the Gate doubtless had by now, and wait around until it deactivated to be able to dial Atlantis. Or, since the Jumper probably hadn't already been spotted, he could wait for the hives to move on before going down to the planet in safety.

But Rodney might not have that sort of time.

"The heroic sprint to home it is, then," he muttered to himself, smiling grimly. He engaged the cloak. The hives didn't worry him so much; it was whatever forces the Wraith had on the surface. _Hopefully none._

"Hang on, McKay," he called back over his shoulder, to the unresponsive figure on the floor. "This could get a bit rough."

His brain noted that Rodney would never let a remark like that one go. He would make some smartass comment about John's flying _always_ being rough, and not expecting this occasion to be any different. And he would probably also say something about how generally useless John was at this getting them home against annoyingly low odds. Strangely, he wished that he _could_ hear the criticism. He was so used to it in dangerous situations that it was almost comforting.

Not that he would ever let on to Rodney that he missed the endless soundtrack of his voice on the rare occasions on which it was switched off. That would only encourage him.

The Jumper began to near the Hives.

It was nerve-wracking, flying with the cloak. No matter how many times he used it, it was hard to ignore the little voice in the back of his head telling him that _of course_ he was fully visible to the Wraith, because whole ships turning invisible was something that just didn't happen. And with the glass window in front of him, he felt that the Wraith would be able to see not just the Jumper, but him piloting it as well. Possibly even Rodney, lying behind him.

Actually, on consideration, he realised that this was something that had never appeared to bother Rodney. John spared a moment to envy him his trusting faith in technology and science, and wished that he could share it.

Because now he _had_ to trust it. As the tiny ship approached the two massive ones (although leaving a suitable passing distance), he had to fight the urge to hold his breath. It wasn't as if it was the first time he had snuck past a Hive ship, he reminded himself, but somehow it had been infinitely more comforting to have passengers who he could crack bad jokes at to relieve the tension.

There didn't seem to be any darts flying around. That was good. A few less things to avoid.

He tried to quieten his breathing, as if that would make a difference.

Quite suddenly, with no warning, the lights on the control panel turned out, as did the rest of the lights inside the Jumper.

John gaped for a second, and then tried to restart the systems. Nothing happened. No controls responded to him.

The Jumper was still moving along its course, with no opposing force to stop it, but it was just drifting, slowly turning over, and, with the loss of power, the cloak had also gone offline. As had the shields.

It, and its two passengers, were fully visible and completely vulnerable.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! This chapter took ages because I generally suck at writing action, and wanted to get it as right as I could. Also, a couple of the keys on this laptop don't work, which makes typing...interesting at times. As usual, thank you very very much for all the alerts, favourites, and particularly reviews! You guys are lovely :D**

**Thanks to _Chief of the Furlings_ for reading this through for me, and reassuring me that it made sense!**

* * *

John swore loudly – very loudly – and thumped the console, but nothing happened except that his hand now hurt as well as his head. He stared out of the window. As yet, the Hives hadn't reacted to the Jumper's sudden appearance, but it would only be a matter of time.

A _very short_ matter of time.

"McKay!" he said, loudly, dropping down beside the scientist. "You need to wake up right now!"

There was no response, and he growled in frustration. "McKay!" His voice had already risen to a near-shout.

Rodney groaned slightly.

Hating himself for it, John took hold of Rodney's shoulders and shook him, forcibly, wincing as he did so on his friend's behalf. That would _hurt_ him.

But it produced the desired effect. Rodney's eyes opened as he groaned in pain. "What the hell?"

For a second, John forgot the situation behind the relief that Rodney was conscious, but the urgency of it surged back almost immediately. "McKay, we don't have much time."

"Huh?" Rodney looked as if he was struggling to focus. His skin was ghostly in the planet-light filtering in through the window, and his eyes were too bright.

"We've got two Hive ships near our position, and the power's gone."

"Hive – what?"

"No power to the Jumper." John struggled to keep his voice level. "No shield. No cloak. We're sitting ducks."

"Oh, God," Rodney moaned. "Sounds bad."

"It is bad," John agreed. "Very, very bad. You need to fix it."

Rodney mumbled something, and closed his eyes. John jostled his shoulder. "What?"

"I said, it's your turn to fix it."

"McKay!" John snapped. "You need to fix this Jumper right now, or both of us are going to end up as the dish of the day on board one of those Hives, if they don't decide to use us as a firework display instead!"

Apparently that was the incentive that Rodney had been waiting for, because his eyes opened again and seemed rather clearer this time. "Why'd you fly us to a Hive ship?" he asked.

"It was _your_ course!" John defended himself, while remembering that time was very likely at a distinct premium. "We need to get moving!"

"You said there was no power?"

"Yes! I mean no! There's no power!"

"The inertial dampeners are working."

"Yes, but – " It took a second for Rodney's statement to fully register in John's brain, and another second for his brain to register amazement that he'd needed to have that fact pointed out to him. "So we _do_ have power?"

"Uh, some. Probably. Maybe." Rodney was blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear his vision. He was obviously struggling to concentrate, but John didn't have the time to reassure him.

"McKay, I need you to tell me what to do, or we're both dead!" He felt guilty for the harshness of his voice, but didn't let any of the guilt show on his face. This was the only way…

He snatched a quick glance out of the window. Still no darts. Good. Possibly their almost-non-existent heat and energy signatures were giving them a partial disguise as just a piece of space junk. But it would only take one pair of eyes looking at the right sensor display to spot them.

"The connections can't have come loose." Rodney looked desperately up at the open crystal panel. "Something must have been damaged by the asteroids."

"So what do I _do_? Help me here!"

Rodney coughed, and it took him a second to catch his breath. "Take the inertial dampeners out of the circuit, so we can siphon the power to the engines."

"_How_?"

Rodney coughed again, and pointed with his good hand. "Pull that crystal out."

John tentatively touched the crystal indicated.

"No, not that one. To the left. The left!"

He grasped it and pulled it out in one motion. To his relief, it was only faintly warm. "What now?"

"Swap it with that one there. That one! It'll cut the dampeners."

"So they'll be no gravity?"

"Of course there won't! What do you _think_ the dampeners are for?"

"All right!" He pulled out the second crystal, and fumbled the two of them into each others' slots.

The effect was immediate. He felt the surge of weightlessness, and his feet lifted up from the floor. It was exciting enough to overcome even the fear of imminent death. "Hey, this is cool!"

"We won't be enjoying it for long," Rodney snapped back. "Darts."

"Crap." John used his hand to spin him around and look outside. There were a handful of them in view, heading directly towards them.

"Help me," Rodney insisted. He had pushed himself away from the floor, and was now slowly floating towards the opposite wall. "It'll be quicker…"

John kept hold of the panel edge with his fingertips, and, reaching out, caught hold of the material on Rodney's shoulder and pulled him across.

"Ok." Rodney's voice was tight. Clearly even the slight movement required in zero-gravity was extremely painful. "You'll need to hold crystals for me when I give them to you."

"How long will it take?"

"As long as it takes!"

"Well, we've got a couple of minutes, tops, so it'd better not take any longer than that!"

"Shut up!" Rodney snapped, with such ferocity that John actually obeyed him. "It's hard enough as it is!"

"Sorry," John muttered, but wasn't sure whether or not the other man heard him. In any case, he got no reply. Rodney began fiddling with the panel in ways he didn't even pretend to understand, while he watched the narrow shapes of the darts enlarge as they got closer and closer. He pretended that he couldn't hear the way Rodney's breaths seemed to catch in his chest, or the faint whimpering he made at the back of his throat with each movement.

"Get to the controls," came the tense instruction.

"The engines work?"

"They should." Rodney caught his breath. "Will. They'll work."

John pushed off, and caught himself with his hands against the control panel. He pressed, and, miraculously, it lit up. "How long will it last?" he asked.

"I have no idea! Not long. Hopefully enough. And there's no shield."

"Figures."

"I can't do anything else!" Rodney said, almost desperately. "That'll have to do!"

"Yep," John agreed. He pulled himself back firmly onto the chair, wondering why the idea of seat belts was one which never seemed to have occurred to the Ancients. Did they never find themselves in crazy situations like this one?

_They'd never admit it if they did,_ he thought, and smiled grimly. "Firing," he said. He concentrated.

Drones zoomed away from the craft, glowing golden wasps with deadly stings. He felt a fleeting sense of triumph as they impacted the darts, so that they exploded silently, debris hurtling outward from their centres, reminding him absurdly of glittering dandelion clocks. Six drones. Six explosions.

Four drones left.

"McKay, you're going to need to hold on," he called, turning his head, only to see that the scientist had obviously already thought of that, as he had managed to get himself against the floor in the corner beside the bulkhead doors, and was holding tight with his left hand to the bottom of the doorframe to keep himself there.

"Just go," he said, through gritted teeth.

There wasn't much choice about that. Already he could see a fresh wave of darts being launched from the Hives. He pulled himself fully back into the chair again, and, with his hands on the control panel, fired the engines at full power.

He had been preparing for it, but even so the force of the acceleration took him by surprise. He was flattened back into his seat, and realised that he had never before comprehended how _fast_ the Jumpers moved.

He tested the steering controls. They seemed to work, so he dodged, moving erratically so that the darts couldn't lock onto his flight path. There were too many of them for him to have a hope of taking them out with the four drones remaining in his arsenal.

They began firing. John swore, and twisted the Jumper into a tight turn, swerving to the side. The movement threw him into the arm of his seat, and he swore again as it jabbed him painfully beneath his ribcage.

The darts began to spread out, clearly with the aim of blocking him. He had a sudden mental image of the tip of one spearing straight through the windscreen, and tried to clear it from his mind.

He lifted the Jumper's nose, soaring up as he was pressed down into his seat. More darts were pouring out of the Hive's bays every second. There wasn't time for overtly fancy manoeuvres. They would stop him by sheer force of numbers. And he didn't know how long he would have power for. It could give out at any second...

John took a deep breath. And barrelled straight forward.

The Jumper lurched as a shot found its target, but it was built to be tough, and stayed on course.

"Sheppard!" Rodney called breathlessly, his voice panicked. "They're going to ram us!"

John didn't answer. That wasn't the plan.

He picked a dart, right at the centre of the swarm of them. _That_ was where he was going to get through.

"Come on," he taunted it. "Come on, come and get me..."

"Are you _insane_?" Rodney half-shouted.

"Come on, dart, let's see who chickens first..."

"You're going to get us both killed!"

It couldn't seem to hit him. Darts were designed for dropping missiles on settlements below them, not for dealing with enemy ships flying at them head on.

"Sheppard! Just _listen_!"

He fired all of the remaining drones. They spread out ahead of him; a golden four-point star. And then they were tearing into the dart and its neighbours, shattering them, and John sailed through the gap, pieces of debris slamming into the sides and window of the Jumper, but not stopping it. He aimed for the planet, straight towards the blinking dot on the screen which was the Gate.

The display told him that the darts had turned around and were still following, but there was nothing he could do except pray that he stayed ahead of them.

The Jumper dipped into the atmosphere, and suddenly yellow-orange fire played over the window as they ripped through the thickening air. John fought against the force pinning him back in his seat to turn his head. Rodney was still pressed into his corner. His face held no colour, and it seemed that all he could do was to stare glassily at John with wide eyes.

It took forever, that semi-controlled fall, while John clenched onto the controls, forcing air into his chest, bargaining under his breath with any deity that cared to listen, promising them _anything_, if the power would just last.

For a few more minutes...

A few more minutes...

Just a few more...

This time, he realised what was going to happen. It was like an alarm bell in his mind, clanging violently. He abandoned the steering, and concentrated on using the very last of their power to slow their descent.

It would be pathetic to have come so far, only to die in a high-speed crash on the very last stretch.

They weren't going to make it as far as the Gate.

John chose a sand dune.

The Jumper dived into it, sending waves of sand fountaining up into the air. John had his eyes closed, holding fast to the chair arms, trying to resist the forces which wanted to toss him around like a rag doll. He thought that he was shouting, but couldn't be sure.

And then it was over.

* * *

John opened his eyes, but the windscreen was buried in sand, and he could only see its shape, the dim light filtering down barely strong enough even for that. He felt shaky as adrenaline drained through him, and took several deep breaths, reassuring himself that he was still in one piece. "McKay?" he asked. "You still with me?"

"Hi," came the answer.

John felt for his P90, and then remembered that of course he wasn't wearing his vest anymore. Cautiously, he slid off the seat and onto the floor. If anything had come loose (which seemed very likely) he didn't want to end up tripping and going head-first into one of the walls. Also, said floor seemed to be at a decided tilt. All in all, his hands and knees felt much safer than his feet.

"McKay?" he asked again. "Where are you?"

"Please don't ever do anything like that ever again." The statement, while reasonable, also seemed suspiciously calm, considering who it was coming from.

"I won't," he said, feeling around him. "But you can blame me later. We need to get out of here." His sweeping hand found something which felt like a boot. "Is this you?"

"No, it's the other poor scientist dying in agony in a dark Jumper."

Despite himself, John almost grinned. "Don't start."

He heard Rodney take a breath which caught on something half way through. When he spoke again, his voice was less calm. "Can't get out of here."

"Yes, you can. We've got to move. We're buried, but the darts'll find us soon enough." He abandoned Rodney's boot, and tried to find where his vest had ended up.

"Sheppard – I can't."

John finally found what he was looking for. He felt along the vest to the familiar shape of the P90, and switched the flashlight on. A beam of white light leaped along the cabin, directly into Rodney's face, and he quickly averted it. "There, now we've got light. I'll find the door release."

"And then what?" Rodney asked. "A suicide dash to the gate before the darts shoot us down or cull us?"

"That's the plan."

"It's a ridiculous plan."

"You'd rather stay here until they come and investigate the Jumper? The hull won't last forever once they start trying seriously to get through it."

Rodney didn't reply, and John tilted the flashlight beam up towards his face again. It was very, very pale, and tightly clenched in pain. He closed his eyes against the light.

"McKay," John said.

Rodney shook his head slightly. "Can't."

"Yes, you can."

"We're going to die anyway. What's the point in making it more painful?"

"McKay, we can do this!"

"No. No, I can't. You know they'll catch us."

"You're not giving up on me now, surely?" he tried, hoping to goad him.

But Rodney just shook his head again. "Won't work."

Being perfectly honest with himself, John _knew_ that it wouldn't work. The darts were probably receiving orders right now to search for survivors of the crash. Perversely, he wished that the crash had been worse, so that it didn't look as if anyone _could_ have survived it.

And there was his idea.

"McKay, I've got a plan," he said.

Rodney must have caught something in his voice, because he opened his eyes. "What?"

"We blow up the Jumper."

"Are you _insane_?"

"No! Look, we've got C4 here. We set it, get out, hide in a sand dune, and blow it. The darts'll think that crash damage caused the explosion, and that we died in it."

"Won't they just think we escaped first?"

"Not if we do it quickly. Like, now."

"Can't walk."

"Yes, you can." He was already hunting through the vest pockets for the C4. "I'll help you."

He began placing all of the C4 blocks around the Jumper. He found the other vest, and extracted all the blocks from there as well. Rodney still hadn't given him an answer, but he wasn't going to wait for one. "Ready?" he asked, when he was.

"No."

It was probably as good an answer as he was going to get. Already wearing one of the vests, he felt for the door release under the seats, thankful that its action was purely mechanical and didn't require any power. "Here we go."

"I don't think this is a good plan – " Rodney began to say, but John had already started moving, pushing his arm under Rodney's shoulder and pulling him to his feet, and then dragging him along with him out through the cascade of sand falling from the roof as the door slid open, and then stopped.

It was enough of a gap for John to get through and then pull his friend through after him, closing his ears to the gasps of pain coming from him, and refusing to look at his face. _Deal with that later._

And then they were sliding down the side of the dune, John wind-milling his free arm to dislodge waves of sand to wash over them as they descended. He could hear the whine of dart engines somewhere above. He could only hope that they weren't noticed...

He pressed the detonator.

The explosion boomed through his eardrums, the dune shaking, more and more of it dislodging and sweeping the two of them down with it. He could dimly hear Rodney trying to scream through a mouth full of sand. His eyes were screwed shut. He could barely breathe. The only thing he could focus on was maintaining the grip on Rodney's upper arm, keeping the two of them together.

They came to a stop.

John lay perfectly still, not daring to move in case it betrayed their position, still holding tightly to Rodney's arm. The whine of the darts became louder, louder. They were flying just over his head. Skimming low to inspect the wreckage.

If they saw them now... If they realised that they had escaped... If they had witnessed them climbing out of the Jumper...

The engine-whine continued. It sounded as if they were spreading out. Searching for them. Did they realise what had happened? The sound of them filled his ears.

His mouth was cloyed with sand. It pressed heavily on his chest. It was hard to get air.

He wondered whether culling beams would be impeded by sand.

He hadn't felt any movement from Rodney since they had stopped sliding. He didn't know if he was even still breathing. And he couldn't move to help him.

The dart-whine became louder again. They were turning. They were coming back.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: This chapter's a bit shorter, but then it was supposed to be the last one. But I've now split them and elongated each, so there's one more to go after this one. I hope you enjoy, and please, as always, do drop me a comment to let me know! Thank you very much to everyone who has, I love reading them! :)**

* * *

Sand.

There was a lot of sand. He could taste it, gritty against his tongue, and feel it rubbing harshly against his skin wherever it was trapped by creases or cloth. It seemed to be in his head, too, as all he knew for certain was that he wasn't sure what had happened. He didn't think that he really wanted to find out.

Sand.

Sound.

He could hear something, but he couldn't place it. Some continuous, high noise which went on and on and on. Instinctively he was afraid of whatever was making it. He would have curled up, making himself smaller, if it wasn't for the pressure over his whole body.

He stayed still. He had no choice.

The sound faded in and out.

In and out. Getting further away.

Then coming back. Coming closer.

And then it began to fade again, and this time continued to do so, getting fainter and fainter.

It dwindled to silence. Still, he saw no reason to move.

So he didn't.

There was movement around him, though. He felt his blanket of sand sliding away. Gradually, the pressure on his chest decreased.

Someone began talking to him. There was a hand brushing the sand from his face. He struggled to make out the words.

" – Kay. McKay, can you hear me?"

He didn't want to move.

"McKay. Rodney."

He thought that he should probably care that someone was trying to get him to respond.

"Rodney, this isn't the best of times to take a nap."

_Tough_.

"You're lucky Ronon isn't here. He'd kick your butt."

Ronon… No, Ronon wasn't there. He couldn't be there because he was either on Atlantis, or exploded.

Being on Atlantis sounded like a better option.

"Rodney!" The voice was growing increasingly more agitated. "We need to get you back home, and I'm not going to be able to carry you."

Being carried didn't sound like it would be particularly fun. He didn't really want that to happen.

While he was pondering that, he became aware of another sensation which was creeping over his body. Pain. He was beginning to wake up, and with the return of awareness, the pain was returning too.

"Rodney?" The tone was suddenly hopeful. Maybe he had moved slightly, without realising it.

He opened his eyes. There was a black shape within a blue shape.

He blinked.

His eyes focused. John's face was hovering near his own, with empty blue sky as a backdrop. It split into a grin as he watched. "Welcome back."

"Hm," Rodney managed to croak.

"You scared me, buddy. You were hardly breathing."

He swallowed, trying to moisten his throat. John must have noticed, because he frowned apologetically. "The water's in what's left of the Jumper. I didn't think to bring it."

"Great." Rodney could hear the rasp in his voice, but at least he was getting out recognisable words.

"Yeah. Sorry." John rubbed his head, and a shower of sand fell from his hair.

"Where…are we?" he asked, having to swallow between words.

"Well." John looked doubtful. "We're on a planet."

Yes, he had gathered that on his own. "Are we… a long way from… Gate?"

"I d- no. We're close."

"Convincing."

"I know I am." John flashed him a grin.

Rodney scowled, and took a moment to look around. The sun wasn't directly in his eyes, but it was strong enough to make him squint, reflected as it was from the pale sand which was the only landscape composite he could see. Dunes were piled up in all directions, bright and barren.

John's face became serious again. "Look, we're going to need to start walking. I can't leave you here. Those darts must have left us for dead, but we don't know that they won't show up again."

"Yeah." Rodney let his head flop backwards, taking a few deep breaths. "Yeah, I know."

"Right." Suddenly John's arm was around him, and pulling him up, too quickly for Rodney to react and stop him. Because if he could have, he _would_ have stopped him. He cried out as intense, white-hot pain flared through his side, and tried to fold to the ground, but John held him firmly as specks danced in his vision, and pulled his arm further around his shoulders, so that most of his weight was supported. "Breathe through it," John was repeating, his voice firm and reassuring. "C'mon, you're doing great."

He breathed. It got easier. He hoped that if he didn't admit that, John wouldn't make him walk.

"That's better. Alright, let's get moving."

They began walking. John purposefully, and Rodney because he _had_ to, since it was John's moving support keeping him standing. His feet stumbled through the sand, feeling its resistance to each of his steps. They had to climb upwards, although John was trying to take him over the lowest parts of the piled sand.

Already, he was boiling hot, and could feel himself sweating. Every step seemed to take hours. And when they reached the top of each ridge that they had to cross, the only feature of the landscape which changed was that there was simply more of it. More unrelenting desert stretching away, seemingly forever.

He wanted to scream, but there wasn't enough air in his lungs to do so.

John seemed to read his mind. Or perhaps he was just using his eyes and ears. "I know you're hurting, but it'll be better soon. We'll be back soon."

The sun was scorching. He could feel sweat dripping from his hairline, and down his back. The flaps of his cut t-shirt fluttered damply against his skin. Their gentle pressure shouldn't have hurt, but managed to do so all the same.

He remembered. "Jumper…"

"Yeah, it blew up." John's breathing was heavy, and Rodney wondered what his own sounded like. "That's why the Wraith left us alone, remember?"

"Yeah." Talking while moving was a massive effort. He closed his mouth instead, and tried to swallow, but the dry membranes of his throat merely stuck together painfully. He spared a thought to consider the utter pointlessness of worrying about the slight pain in his throat, compared to the agony being endured by the rest of his body, but it failed to amuse him, or even to distract him.

"It's not far," John said. Rodney nodded determinedly, despite his misgivings. He doubted that they were near to the Gate at all. He wasn't even convinced that John actually knew where the Gate was, but he didn't have the energy to vocalise either of those concerns. Keeping one foot moving ahead of the other was taking enough of his concentration.

Without knowing exactly when he had begun, he was chanting a mantra in his head, born from John's last words. _Not far now. Not far now. Not far now._

_Not far now,_ as rivulets of sweat dripped into his eyes, and stung, while he had no hand available to wipe them away.

_Not far now,_ as he screwed his eyes against the hash glare of the sun.

_Not far now, _as John guided his steps upwards over piled heaps of sand which shifted beneath his feet, sliding backwards, as if trying to carry him backwards too…

"Rest," he finally gasped out.

He had been prepared for John to protest, but he didn't. He immediately stopped moving forwards and instead lowered Rodney gently down, sitting himself next to him on the sand and flexing his arms to loosen them. Rodney had the fleeting thought that he should probably feel guilty for letting John let him lean so much on him, but didn't have the energy to pursue it. He just lay back, unmoving, and squinted up at the blindingly blue sky while taking breaths which were as deep as he could currently manage.

Beside him, John also lay back. He permitted himself to imagine that they would stay here for a while, and he could close his eyes and go to sleep and leave all this behind him…

But, as he had known would happen, within a horribly short space of time, John sat up again. "Ready to move on, McKay?" he asked with a casualness which almost appeared genuine.

"Not… not yet." Rodney didn't care if it sounded as if he was pleading. "A bit longer."

"Ok. A couple more minutes."

Relieved at his slight respite, Rodney stared up again at the slice of brilliantly blue sky above him. He tried to imagine himself already back on Atlantis, but failed. Possibly because they so easily could have already been back…

Something occurred to him. "Sheppard!" he said sharply.

He heard John move, presumably turning to look at him. "What is it?"

"On the planet. You went off like an idiot because you wanted to save the Jumper."

"I know. I've _said_ sorry. Do we have to go through this again?"

"And now you've just purposefully blown up that very same Jumper."

There was a brief silence. "I didn't think of it like that," John said.

"No, I didn't imagine you had."

There was another silence. "Well, thanks for pointing out the irony."

"You're welcome."

He heard John sit up, and groaned, knowing what was to follow. "We need to be moving on now."

"No we don't. Not yet."

"Yes, we do, and you know it."

Rodney didn't say anything, knowing that it would achieve nothing. And sure enough, he felt John's hand on his shoulder. He nodded, closing his eyes and holding his breath.

John didn't say anything once Rodney was upright again, which he was grateful for. He didn't think that there was anything in him anymore except the desire to get home. It was the only solid idea which pervaded his fog of pain.

They began walking, or stumbling, again.

Every time they reached the top of a ridge, they stopped to catch their breath, and to strain their eyes looking for the Gate, without admitting to each other that that was what they were doing. But they didn't see it. There was only the orange-gold sand, sculpted into waves by a wind which wasn't now blowing; the frozen waves of a solid sea, stretching out in all directions beneath the cloudless, burning blue of the sky.

It was beautiful, Rodney thought.

He was going to die on this planet, but at least the last vista he would ever see would be a truly spectacular one.

John would tell him to stop with the pessimism, he thought, but glancing at John's face during the next of their frequent pauses made him suddenly not so sure. His face was pale, and he was breathing extremely heavily. There were grains of sand stuck to the trail of blood on his forehead. This forced march across the desert was probably nearly as hard for him, especially since he was the one doing the guiding and supporting.

He felt that he should say something, but couldn't imagine what. Presently, he forgot that he had intended to do so, wrapped up again in his own struggle.

Gradually, the sky began to darken, the blueness deepening, blending into the indigo of evening as the sun slipped down towards the horizon behind them, sending their shadows elongating ahead.

Rodney was trying to keep his eyes closed as much as possible. Walking was getting harder and harder. When he looked in any direction it seemed to take his brain a few seconds to catch up, giving him a dizzying lurch each time.

And then he felt his knees weaken and buckle beneath him, and he couldn't stop himself from falling. It was only John's hands which controlled his drop at all.

"McKay!" he heard John calling urgently, but he didn't respond. He knew already that he was spent. He wasn't going to be able to get up again.

John's voice got fainter and fainter, and presently he couldn't hear him at all.

* * *

Rodney didn't move, or respond at all, no matter what John tried. Eventually he gave up, and just sat down next to him.

His friend was slowly dying. Of that there was no doubt.

And soon, the evening would turn to dusk, and then to night. Temperatures would plummet. Probably neither of them would survive until morning.

He rubbed his eyes, and tried to come up with some sort of plan. None of his previous desert survival training really applied here. It had focused on remaining hydrated while conserving as much water as possible, and staying near a recognisable feature such as a vehicle or distinctive piece of terrain while waiting for rescue. Well, he currently had no water, and already recognised in himself the symptoms of dehydration. Rodney was presumably worse off. And as for waiting to be rescued – he thought the chances of that happening were very thin indeed. They were probably assumed to be dead.

No, if anything were to happen, it would be down to him.

He made sure that Rodney could breathe freely in the position he was lying in, and then looked around to locate the highest dune in the immediate vicinity. Despite his repeated assertions, he was not at all confident that they were even headed in the right direction, and could only hope.

It took longer than he thought it should have to climb the dune. His head was pounding fiercely, and his dry month burned, as did the tortured muscles in his legs. But he reached the top at last.

He strained his eyes to stare around in all directions, and saw – sand. Sand stretching in all directions, burnished by the setting sun. Rising and falling, without a break, without a reprise.

He wanted to scream. They had come so _far_. Distances on a planet were tiny compared to those long miles of black. And he had _seen_ where the Gate was on their approach. They couldn't possibly be _that_ far from it right now…

But if he couldn't see it, there might as well be a million miles still to go.

He supposed that he should go back down to Rodney. He might wake up again. If that happened, John didn't want him to have to be alone.

But he remained where he was, just for a little while longer. He was defeated, but he didn't want to admit it to himself until he had no choice.

The sun was falling. Only a sliver of it remained now, huge and red, painting the sand in its path the colour of blood.

And through a gap between two dunes, something caught the very last rays of its light, and glinted.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I am very happy to report the completion of this story! Although I did manage to underestimate how manically busy the first couple of weeks back at university would be, hence the slowness of the updation.

Thank you very _very_ much to everyone who's been reading, alerting, favouriting, and especially to the lovely people who've reviewed! Of course, it's never too late to drop me a review and tell me how you liked the ending, and the story as a whole, especially if you haven't so far... ;)

Thanks to _Chief of the Furlings_ for the read-through and suggestions :)

* * *

John stared. And stared. _The Gate…_

Or was it? Was it just some piece of… anything, which just happened to have a surface smooth enough to catch the light?

It was more-or-less in the direction which he and Rodney had spent torturous hours trudging towards, but, he had to admit to himself, that didn't really count for much. He had never been particularly sure of their route in the first place, following his best guess rather than anything tangible, reasoning that it was better to be heading somewhere than nowhere.

The red sun slipped below the horizon, and the glint of reflected light vanished.

John still stared towards where it had been, trying to fix the direction in his memory. Landmarks… well, there weren't really any. Sand, and more sand, and even more sand. And it was beginning to get dark now, so even if there _were_ landmarks, they wouldn't be good for much longer.

He wondered how cold it got at night. Looking up at the cloudless sky, he knew that he didn't want to find out.

One last look to fix the direction in his mind, and he was slipping his way down the dune, back towards where he had left Rodney, trying, as he went along, to come up with a good plan.

By the time he reached the still unconscious man, he didn't yet have one. But it wasn't as dark as he had expected, because a moon had begun to rise to one side, huge and white, and bright enough already to cast shadows. Rodney lay deep in the one thrown by the piled dune.

He made up his mind.

"McKay," he said, shaking his shoulder. "McKay, wake up."

It took a moment, but Rodney stirred. His eyes opened, and seemed to wander before resting on John's face. "'Lo," he whispered hoarsely.

"Hi." John paused, trying to think how best to word what he knew he had to say. "How're you feeling?"

"Hurts…"

"Yeah, I know." He remembered that earlier he had thought about how unnatural an silent and unconscious Rodney was. It was even more unnatural when he was awake. "McKay, I think I know where the Gate is."

"Really?" It was enough to lift Rodney out of his stupor.

John nodded. If he was right, the knowledge could give Rodney hope enough to hold on. If he was wrong… then soon it wouldn't matter, one way or another. "Really."

"How far?"

"Just a few miles."

Rodney's look of hope instantly vanished. "Sheppard… I can't."

"McKay – "

"No!" It was said with desperation. "I don't care about your stupid motivational speeches. I can't go on. Just… you go."

John had to bite back a smile. "That's what I was going to suggest."

"What – you're going to leave me here?!" The indignation was even clearer than the desperation had been, and was enough for him to start pushing himself upwards.

John shoved him back down, not ungently. "_Listen_, ok? I'll trek to the Gate, and bring back a Jumper for you. I won't be long."

"You said miles."

"Yeah, it'll take a couple of hours or so. You can wait that long, can't you?" He kept his voice deliberately upbeat, hoping that Rodney would take it as a challenge.

"Of course I can. I'm not _helpless_!"

He didn't bother to bite back his grin this time. "Ok, that's settled." He made to stand up.

"Wait." The moonlight was beginning to creep over Rodney, painting him in contrasts. His face was whitened so that it could have been a small moon itself, with dark craters for eyes and mouth, and mountain ranges in the deep-grained lines of pain and fear. "You're leaving right _now_?"

"The quicker I get there, the quicker I'll be back."

"I know, but…"

_But I don't want to die here all alone while you're gone._ He could hear the words as clearly as if they had been spoken aloud.

He bent over and pulled Rodney's radio out, placing it in his uninjured hand. "Here. Keep the channel open. Just stay here and keep talking to me, and I'll be back before you know it."

"Sheppard…"

He stood up. "I'll be back soon," he said again.

"Sheppard!"

"What?"

"You're… you're certain you know where the Gate is?"

John thought that from his new vantage point, Rodney's face no longer looked like a moon. With the shadows lying in his eye sockets, it looked like a skull. "One hundred percent certain," he said firmly. "It's on top of a ridge, right on the skyline. There's no way I can miss it."

"That's good."

"Yeah," he said. "It's good." And he turned away. He didn't look back as he again began to climb the dune, following the trail of his earlier footsteps, but he felt that he could feel Rodney's eyes on his retreating back.

At the top he paused, but only for a moment. As he had suspected, there was nothing anymore to be seen in the direction of that brief spark of light, but then it would be a truly impressive fluke for it to reflect the moon towards him, as well as the sunset.

He began walking.

After a while he reached for his radio. "Hey, McKay. You there?"

"Yeah."

He had mentally prepared for a _Where else would I be?_, and had been ready to toss an equally snarky comment back. Without that, he wasn't quite sure what to say. He cast around for a random conversation topic. He looked up. "Lots of stars here."

"Yes. We're in what's commonly known as a galaxy."

"I know that." Apparently Rodney had simply been caught off-guard by the first question, and had now rallied. "I was just trying to find something to talk about."

"Well, you're lousy at it."

"Thank you." He rubbed his aching head. As he began to rise up the next dune, he tried again. "So, what are you working on?"

"On not being bored to death."

"You know I meant on Atlantis."

"Oh, the usual. Trying to stop the so-called scientists in my department from setting the whole place on fire, or blowing it up, or sinking it."

So prompted, he launched into rambling descriptions of the various ways in which he had managed to narrowly avert calamities within the last week. John, not able to reliably tell which parts were true and which were exaggerated, didn't bother trying and instead just listened, walking to the rhythm of the scientist's voice. Most of the time he had no idea who was being talked about, as Rodney, despite several years of working with everyone, still hardly ever managed to get names right, and didn't seem to bother with physical attributes, either. He took it for granted that John would just know who he meant, and frequently took very large tangents, which John didn't comment on.

"…so he said he'd run a diagnostic and couldn't find anything wrong, but his code? My niece could write better code than that. I mean, not _now_, obviously, but when she grows up she'll be able to. I don't care about whatever stupid hippy ideas my sister and that herbivore husband of hers have, she's going to be a scientist. Anyway, he seemed to think there was nothing wrong, and actually acted _surprised_ when I told him that he could have killed us all.."

It was almost soothing, a background track constantly playing. John could half-listen to it, and try to ignore the fact that the further he walked, the more his head was pounding. Whenever he reached the top of a ridge, he had to bend over and recover his breath, closing his eyes to stop his vision from swimming. He had more and more of an impression that it wasn't a desert he was walking through, but walking over the surface of a vast sea, with white-capped waves and deep dark troughs. Out of the corner of his eyes he could almost swear that it was rising and falling.

"Sheppard!" a voice in his ear suddenly ordered.

He paused, and rubbed at his eyes. "Yeah?"

There was a burst of static, which could be interpreted as a breath being let go. "You weren't answering. I thought you'd collapsed or something."

"I wasn't?" That was odd. "I didn't hear you."

"I've been saying your name for about an hour. Well, a few minutes, anyway."

"Whatever." He wasn't in the mood right then. He just had to get to the Gate, and everything would be fine, and then there would be time for Rodney to go on as much as he liked. That was when he noticed. "You've stopped talking."

"It's cold."

He didn't see quite how the two things were supposed to be related. "It's night."

"Oh, ha, ha." There was a pause. "Lots of stars."

"Yeah." The sky was studded with them. "We don't usually see so many."

"That's because we're usually on Atlantis, which is in a different part of the galaxy." John was still thinking up a good retort to that when he spoke again. "Why can't we just fly the Jumper back to the Gate?"

"We don't have it anymore," John said, calmly. "It blew up, remember?"

"Oh. Ok. Guess we should go with Teyla and Ronon after all."

"What?" It was hard to tell, through the radio distortion, but Rodney sounded confused.

"To the Gate. Before the mines go off."

John wished very much that he'd paid more attention to Rodney's earlier rambling, so that he could have seen this coming. But he managed to keep his voice calm. "McKay, that's not where we are."

"It's not?"

"No. We're on the other planet, remember? I'm walking to the Gate."

"Oh." The radio-distorted voice was suddenly much quieter. "Sheppard, it hurts."

"I know. Just hang in there."

"Where are you?"

"I'm nearly at the Gate." He stared across the waves of white and black sand, and prayed that that was true.

"You left me here…" Rodney's voice strengthened. "You left me behind."

"I'm coming back for you. With transport."

"But… you've left me behind."

John resisted the urge to kick the side of a dune, anything. He didn't have the energy to spare for that, or for forming a particularly eloquent defence of his actions. "Rodney, listen to me. I promise I'm coming back. You're one of my team."

"Getting cold," Rodney said. There was another burst of static. "You promise?"

"I promise."

"Are you near the Gate?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm not far."

"You've not got lost?"

John choked down a laugh. "Why would I be lost?"

"Please." For a moment Rodney sounded much more like himself. "You _always_ get lost."

"Not this time."

He waited for a reply. "McKay?"

There was silence over the radio. "Rodney? C'mon, keep talking to me."

No answer. "McKay!"

Nothing.

He turned around, and the dunes spun with him, so that he had to blink hard, several times. But of course he couldn't see back across the desert to the spot where he'd left Rodney. And he doubted that he could find his way back on his own. The only way would be with a Jumper, which could scan for life signs.

_And if there aren't any?_

That wasn't a useful thought, he told himself, and turned again. The Gate. He had to get to the Gate. _Keep going, Sheppard._

His head pounded, and he found himself rubbing his arms, where the hairs stood upright from the growing cold. He had to reach the Gate soon, or it would be too late and all of this would have been for precisely nothing. He pulled himself up over the lowest point where two dunes joined.

And there it was.

He had to rub his eyes several times before he could quite believe it, but the Gate remained, a ring throwing an elliptical shadow towards him.

So easy.

The few metres remaining felt like miles, but then his hand was on the cold keys of the DHD, and he could believe it at last.

He dialled. The symbols swirled in and out of focus, but he already knew where they were.

* * *

Movement. He was moving. It didn't seem to have much to do with him, so he let it happen.

Voices, too.

One of them in particular, sounding close, the same syllables repeated over and over. He concentrated on them.

"Rodney. Rodney, can you hear me?"

Last time he had opened his eyes, he remembered, there had been pain. He didn't want pain.

"Rodney."

It sounded urgent. It might be important.

So he looked. Someone was bending over him. Light seared his retinas.

"Ow," he mumbled. His voice sounded strange.

It shut off. "Aye, he's just about awake," someone said. The same voice which had been calling his name before. "Rodney, you with me here?"

"C'son?" The name came to him without conscious thought.

"That's right. We'll have you safe back on Atlantis in no time at all." The face removed itself from his line of sight. "Lay him on the floor, there."

A jolt ran through his body, but, surprisingly, there was still no pain. He felt rather as if he was wrapped in some protective bubble.

The face was back, and so was another one. He blinked a few times, trying to make sense of it. "Hi there, McKay," it said.

"You came back." He couldn't remember why, but it was something which was important, and so worth the effort needed to say it.

"That's right, I did." Both faces were smiling, and he suddenly wondered why they looked so happy.

He had to tell them that they shouldn't look so pleased with him. He struggled to form the words. "Left… I left them…" He had to breathe. "Tey'a… Ro'n…"

"We are right here." There was another head, and a warm hand folding around his. "We are fine, Rodney."

"G'd. That's… g'd."

"You can sleep now, Rodney," Carson told him, and he let his eyes fall shut. The voice continued, slightly fainter and no longer directed at him. "And you, Colonel. Now we've got him, you can stop being so bloody stubborn and sit down yourself."

There was a gentle thump, and then a rougher voice saying, "I got him, doc."

He drifted away to the feel of someone gently stroking the side of his face, and to the fading sound of Gaelic swearing.

* * *

An unexpected noise jerked John out of an unplanned sleep. He opened his eyes onto the infirmary ceiling, and rolled over to see Teyla adjusting a chair's position. "Back again?" he asked, quietly.

She turned towards him with a smile and a shrug. "Someone has to be here. Ronon would be here too, but he had to go offworld with Major Lorne's team."

"I'm here," John said. "I'm sure you have more important things to be doing."

She cut him off. "Not at all. And you were asleep. Not to mention the fact that you are a _patient_, and I am also here for you."

John scowled. "I'm not a patient. Patients would be _in_ the bed."

"While you are on top of it, and refusing to wear infirmary clothing. I am sorry for failing to notice."

John sat up, grimacing slightly, and leaning over to take a sip from the glass of water beside his bed. "How long have you been here?" he asked, reaching up absently to rub at the dressing on his head.

"An hour or so. Dr Beckett came by to see how the two of you were doing. _He_ certainly seems to be under the impression that you are in the infirmary because you are receiving treatment for a severe concussion and dehydration." A smile that was almost a smirk flittered on her lips.

John glared. "Watch it. I'll be back to kicking your ass in the gym in no time."

She diplomatically said nothing, but her eyebrows lifted doubtfully.

He decided to change the subject. "Did Beckett say how Rodney's doing?"

Both of them looked over at the bed on the other side of Teyla's chair, where Rodney lay, wired to monitors, a still shape beneath a covering, with his heavily bandaged right hand above it. He looked exactly the same as he had before John had fallen asleep, and, to John anyway, the same as he had when he had finally been wheeled out of surgery. According to Beckett then, he had been lucky. Very lucky. If he hadn't been got back to Atlantis when he had… John _really_ didn't want to think about that.

Teyla must have noticed the involuntary convulsive movement he made. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. What did Beckett say?"

"He said that Rodney will probably sleep for a while. And that he should fully recover, after some time, of course."

"That's good." John let out a sigh. Quite suddenly he found himself wanting to talk, to make Teyla understand exactly why he _needed_ Rodney to wake up, so that he could talk to him. "I left him alone in the desert, when he was dying."

Teyla rested her hand on his arm. "It was the only thing you could have done. You saved his life."

"Well I guess we're even, then, for now." But he couldn't shake the memory of Rodney over the radio, disorientated and afraid. "I hope – "

Teyla seemed to already know what he was going to say. "He will understand." And then, before he could object, "I have heard from Elizabeth that you dodged several Wraith darts. She said I should ask you to tell me about it."

John suspected some sort of ulterior motive, but even if he said so himself, it had been some impressive flying, and the painkillers he was on were dulling his appreciation of subtleties. He launched into an account of it, disregarding the knowing smile that had again appeared on Teyla's mouth.

"…so then I had about a hundred darts heading for me and firing, and I knew I'd have to dodge them – "

"Liar," a voice croaked.

John's head immediately snapped up and Teyla swivelled around on her chair. From the next bed, an opening pair of eyes glared at him. "Not a hundred."

"McKay!" John exclaimed. He sat up properly, and swung his legs off the side of the mattress. "How're you feeling?"

"Tired," came the reply, after a second of consideration. He blinked a few times, slowly. "Hey, we got home."

"Yeah, we did. I told you it wasn't far."

"It was a _long_ way," Rodney corrected him.

John shrugged. "Isn't there a saying that goes, 'it's not the journey that counts, it's the getting there'?"

"I do not think that is _quite_ correct," Teyla said, doubtfully.

"Whatever." John leaned forward, and became more serious. "McKay, I'm sorry. For leaving you out there."

Rodney's face creased into a frown. "But you had to, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I know I had to."

"So why're you sorry?" The tone wasn't accusing, simply curious.

He couldn't find an answer. After a moment's thought, he wondered if there _was_ one at all. Maybe it was one of those things which could wait for another time and place to be discussed.

"Anyway," Rodney continued, seemingly oblivious to John's internal debate, "There weren't a hundred darts."

John stirred himself to answer indignantly. "There were! You just don't remember probably. But since you were injured at the time, I'll forgive you for it."

"So kind," Rodney huffed.

Teyla shot a reproving look at John, and leaned towards Rodney. "It's good to see you awake. We were worried."

"Hah." Rodney's voice was quickly regaining its sleepiness. "Knew you would be."

"_I_ wasn't worried," John drawled. "I'm only here because I'm a patient too. What with being injured while saving your life and all."

Teyla sighed audibly and rolled her eyes.

"I saved you more," Rodney said, his eyelids drooping heavily and his syllables beginning to blur together. "You owe me."

"I walked across a desert for you!" John protested.

"I dragged you to the Jumper."

"I saved us from _two_ hives!"

"No, I did that."

Teyla shot John another disapproving look, with a softer expression behind it, and he grinned in response. "Alright, McKay, you did good. Now get some rest. You need it."

Rodney obediently closed his eyes, without arguing, which John knew was an event unlikely to be repeated for a long while. He mumbled something.

John leaned forward to try to catch it. "What was that?"

"You don' need to stay," Rodney repeated, slightly more clearly.

John shared another smile with Teyla, and put his feet back up on his bed. "Well, we're going to anyway."

**FIN**


End file.
